Signs
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: Blair Waldorf will do whatever it takes to be perfect, even if it means purging after every meal. Her best friend doesn't notice. Her boyfriend doesn't care. And she's afraid to let Chuck Bass help her. C/B multi-chapter.
1. A Single Step

**A/N: This is a slightly AU take on how Blair and Chuck get together. It will explore the beginnings of her bulimia and how he will help her get through it. It should be around fifteen chapters. **

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. Yes, I realize this just about rewrites the show. Bear with me ;)**

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Chapter 1

A Single Step

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_Come to me, and I will help you crawl  
Won't let you fall  
Show you how to breathe  
Come to me  
- Megan McCauley_

Blair Waldorf was a perfectionist.

Her hair, her clothes, her body…it all had to be perfectly smooth, delicate, beautiful. The pain in her feet when she wore the outrageously high limited-edition silver Manolo Blahnik heels to her fifth-grade graduation didn't bother her; at least she'd be tall enough to almost look into Serena Van der Woodsen's eyes and maybe, just maybe, feel more than inferior. She barely noticed the forest green, scratchy fabric rubbing against her moisturized skin, despite the tears welling up in her soft brown eyes. Her mother had told her it looked okay on her but would look better on Serena. And Blair had to try to look better. She had to be enough for her mother.

Blair was five when she first met Serena. She had been impressed by the other girl's confidence, awed by her flowing blond locks and doleful, round navy blue eyes. From that day on, Blair only felt envious when her eyes fell on her best friend.

She was six when she met Nathaniel Archibald, six when she first swooned at the sight of his golden locks and skin, princely smile, piercing blue eyes. He had given her a cookie, asked her to be his girlfriend. Four years later, he had pledged solemnly that he would love her forever and that he would marry her one day. Blair had doubted him even then. But she had said nothing. He was an Archibald, she was a Waldorf. They were _supposed_ to be together. He was perfect.

But was she?

Blair was fifteen when her world fell apart.

She descended the marble stairs of her family's penthouse on a cold December night, her hair conditioned, her eyes sparkling. Her thoughts were far away, lost in dreams and hopes and fantasies. She wished she could be near Nate, be near him right now. She wanted to tell him she wanted to marry him someday, too, wanted to tell him she needed him to want her the way she wanted him, needed him to want the heat and the contact and the rain as much as she did. Maybe, she thought, he felt the passion, too. Maybe, he wouldn't shy away from her when she brought her lips to his, and she'd connect to him in a way she almost thought she'd forgotten.

Affection rushed through her, colored her thoughts. Blair Waldorf Archibald. She tried it out on her lips, silently mouthed the words. She smiled to herself.

She treaded silently through the kitchen, stopping to nibble on a pastry her father had sent from France. She missed him, yes. But she was happy he had found someone he loved, even if that person wasn't her mother.

Eleanor Waldorf glided into the kitchen, her eyes narrowing as she caught sight of her only daughter with a petit four in her mouth. "Blair, what are you doing?"

Her voice was accusatory, and Blair cringed a little, swallowing anxiously. "Eating a petit four. Daddy sent them from France."

"Well," her mother sniffed disdainfully, "Stop eating it. You barely fit into that dress as it is."

Blair looked down at herself self-consciously. She was wearing an Eleanor Waldorf original, a blue and white ruffled silk confection. She had thought it was perfect, but not anymore. She tugged on the hem nervously and quickly flicked a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear.

"Yes, mother." She gulped.

"And stand up straight." Eleanor's voice was irritable. "God knows you're not tall, but at least _try_ to look like Serena doesn't completely dwarf you. And on that note, perhaps you should give that dress to Serena. She's skinny enough to fit into it. Unlike you."

Blair hung her head in silent defeat.

"Now go away." Eleanor snapped at her daughter. "Go on a run or something."

Blair nodded and almost curtsied; her mother was ordering her around like she was a master, and her daughter her servant.

She ran up the stairs, tripping over herself in her rush to forget her mother's harsh words. Comparing her to Serena…why would she do that? Did she want Serena as a daughter instead of her?

But no. The thought was too painful. Blair pushed it away.

She stumbled into her bathroom, tears cascading down her cheeks. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. She pressed her cheek against the cold wall and looked at her reflection, wondering where she had gone wrong. She had dieted, exercised…why wasn't she skinny?

Angrily, she tore the smooth silk off her body, ignoring her mother's suggestion that she give the dress to Serena. If she couldn't have it, neither could her best friend.

And she stood before the mirror in her bra and underwear, her eyes tightening as she took in the flaws in her body. She saw too much fat on her thighs, not enough definition in her stomach, too little muscle in her arms. She didn't like what she saw, and apparently, neither did her mother.

She wasn't perfect. Not in the eyes of her mother. Not in the eyes of anyone who mattered.

The world crashed down on Blair. Right then and there.

Everything she had ever done wrong, every mistake she had every made, every person she had ever hurt...it all came back to her, in a rush of memories that made her cry out in pain. She sobbed again and again, hugging her knees to her chest, pawing the ground in a desperate attempt to relieve the ache in her heart.

She couldn't be who her mother wanted her to be. She couldn't be Serena, no matter how hard she tried. She couldn't be blond. She couldn't be tall. She couldn't be confident, happy, sparkling.

She couldn't even be skinny.

Or could she? She stood up, looking at the toilet thoughtfully. Health class had taught her about more than sex. She could do what they had always told her she shouldn't. She could be just another statistic, just another girl who felt fat and couldn't lose the weight fast enough. And maybe she could make her mother see that she was worth loving. Maybe she could make Serena jealous of her for once instead of the other way around.

Maybe, she could make Nate notice her…she clutched her heart in pain. He barely looked at her anymore. His eyes never met hers if he could help it.

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the memories flood her mind for a moment. Kisses, touches, rain pattering on the windows…it had all meant so much once. And now, she didn't even know if what they had still mattered to him. If it ever had.

But she could make him see. She could make him love her again.

She didn't dare think about what she was planning to do. The very thought of it twisted her stomach. How could she do it? It would hurt. It would make a mess. And Serena would be so disappointed in her…

But she didn't have to know, she reasoned. No one had to know.

Blair looked at the toilet again. She had to do it. She knew she had to. She had to make them see. And besides, immediate gratification meant more – and saved her more – than her mother's approval or her boyfriend's attention or her best friend's admiration could ever mean to her.

She needed to do it. Now.

But she didn't want to have to. She didn't want to have to resort to hurting herself to be perfect. She didn't want to have to be perfect. But she did. She _did_ want to be perfect. And she always would.

That night was the first time Blair Waldorf made herself throw up.

The next morning drifted by lazily, as if everything was suspended in the air and Blair was the only one still moving. She felt as if she were living in a blank, foggy haze, her thoughts clouded, the line between hope and despair blurred. She couldn't talk to anyone, least of all her mother; her tongue felt as heavy as her heart.

But she had to talk to Nate.

Blair walked up to him at lunch, holding her head high, smiling secretively to herself. She felt prettier, more put-together, now that she was skinnier. Everything would be all right. It had to be. He would love her now. He would want to be with her.

But he didn't move when she touched his arm tenderly, didn't acknowledge her at all. She flinched, faltered. Maybe he didn't want her anymore. Maybe he saw her pain, but ignored it because it would shatter his perfect, untainted life…but no. He was Nate Archibald. She was Blair Waldorf. Nate, Blair. They were perfect.

But she still wasn't.

In a last, desperate attempt to catch his attention, she reached up on her tiptoes and grazed his cheek with her lips. She lingered there for a moment, waiting for him to smile at her touch. This was their tradition, their ritual. If he didn't respond…she breathed a sigh of relief when he turned his head to catch her lips with his.

There. That was more like it. Even if it was just a kiss, just a soft, sweet, chaste kiss that left her a little happier than before.

But Blair remembered every kiss she had ever given and received. The contact wasn't something she ever wanted to forget. It was connection she craved, the hope of knowing someone else had felt it too. She didn't want the romance. Kisses didn't make her heart race and her palms sweat. She didn't touch for that. She touched for heat. She touched so that it could convince her that she even existed at all.

And when Nate pulled away, his eyes distant, Blair knew that he hadn't felt it. And she felt dead, less alive than when she had expunged the contents of her stomach into the porcelain toilet. He still didn't care.

She couldn't take it.

Blair looked around anxiously, searching for her best friend, hoping to find solace. That had always been their way. Blair told Serena all about her problems, despite how jealous she was of her. She could tell Serena anything, couldn't she? Even about this? Even about the things she held inside, even about the memories she pushed away?

Her eyes lit up when she caught sight of Serena, willowy, ethereal, beautiful Serena. The taller girl glided towards Blair and Nate and laughed breathlessly, her bell-like voice shimmering, "Hey, you two! What's going on?"

Nate chuckled in response and threw his arm around Blair, stiffening when she buried her head in his shoulder. "We're doing great!"

But Blair saw the way Nate looked at Serena, saw the desire in his glittering eyes and the way his fists clenched as his eyes roamed her statuesque body, saw his struggle to keep his expression neutral. She thought she might throw up.

And so she did.

With a quick "Excuse me" to her bewildered friends, she pranced away, tears blurring her vision. She didn't know why she wasn't enough for Nate. She didn't know why he was so much more attracted to Serena than he was to her. She didn't know anything.

She wandered the halls of Constance Billiard for a good while, wondering where the hell the bathroom was. For some reason, she couldn't remember.

But eventually, she found it, and she threw open a stall door, her breath hitching in anticipation. Ah. Sweet release. And so she kneeled over the toilet, plunging a finger down her throat, wincing when she tasted bile on her tongue.

She cried when she was finished.

She sat on the bathroom floor, ignoring the bells that rang every forty-five minutes. She stayed there, thinking, hoping, dying. She wanted to be enough for Nate, enough for her mother. She thought that maybe, just maybe, this last act of self-deprecation would make them see.

And what else could she do? She had already sacrificed her dignity, her pride, and even her wellbeing. And all for Nate. All for her mother. How could they expect her to survive if they didn't want her?

With a slight groan, she pulled herself to her feet at last and wearily opened the stall door, not sure she was ready to face her demons just yet.

Her mouth formed a perfect O when she realized Chuck Bass was standing in front of her.

Her eyes narrowed at the sight. Of course. It was just her luck. Chuck Bass, womanizer of the Upper East Side and all-around sleaze, finding her there. She dreaded what he would say. She knew there would be a devilish gleam in his eyes, because if there was one thing Chuck Bass loved, it was information.

He was the Upper East Side's Gossip Girl, some suspected. But Blair knew better. He just loved telling people's secrets. He loved hurting people. He thrived on it.

"Bass." Blair managed to spit out through clenched teeth.

"Waldorf." His voice was uncharacteristically soft. No smirk. No excited gleam in his eyes. No victorious tone. And Blair thought there might have even been concern…

But no.

Why had he come?

Chuck answered her unspoken question, whispering, "I heard you, and I just…you shouldn't do this to yourself."

Blair cringed. "Why do you care?"

"I don't know, actually." He looked at her for a long moment, brown meeting brown. She was surprised at the warmth in his eyes.

And with that, he strode away, leaving a very confused Blair Waldorf behind him. She scoffed.

Chuck Bass, concerned? Yeah, right.

_tbc_


	2. Life in a Glass House

_My bones ache, my skin feels cold  
And I'm getting so tired and so old  
The anger swells in my guts  
And I won't feel these slices and cuts  
- "Open Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol_

_**Two Years Later**_

Blair didn't try to hide it anymore. She excused herself after every meal, flushed the toilet loudly, constantly ate two and even three servings of food.

But no one ever noticed. Her mother only cast disapproving eyes on her when she reached for another slice of bread, and made no more stinging comments than usual. Serena had just returned from boarding school, and was too absorbed in her own problems to pay much attention to her best friend. And Nate, well…Nate barely even called Blair anymore. She knew he wouldn't look twice at her even if she lost ten pounds.

It hadn't always been like this, really. Things had been beautiful for a while.

It had been New Year's Eve, Blair's sophomore year, when Nate had first told her he loved her.

They were at a party, of course – no self-respecting Upper East Sider spent the dawning of the new year at home. They were together, and they were happy, for the most part. Blair's old habit had died down a little, and that night, she was feeling more confident than ever before. She wore a bright green, eye-catching silk wrap, and for once, when she looked across the room and saw Serena in a white sheath that clung to her every curve, she didn't feel jealous.

Of course, she should have known it couldn't last.

She had wondered the party for a while, blissful, glowing. Eventually, she had wound up on the balcony, staring wondrously at the stars, perhaps a little tipsy. Nate had sneaked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her still too thin body, whispering in her ear, "You look beautiful tonight."

She had giggled girlishly and turned around, pressing her lips to his in as affectionate a manner as she could muster. He had responded eagerly, pulling her closer, and she had felt herself getting lost in his warm embrace.

His lips had hovered by her ear. "I love you."

She had flinched, wondering if she had heard wrong. He couldn't be possibly be saying that, not now, not when they were only sophomores, only fifteen…but she hadn't hesitated to return the words, because she had known they were true.

They had kissed for a while longer, but when he had led her towards the bedroom, she had shaken her head fervently. She was only fifteen. She wasn't ready. But when she had told Nate that, when she had gently pushed him away and steered him out onto the balcony again, he had looked her with an expression she didn't recognize at first. It had seemed so out of place on his golden features.

But it had dawned on her suddenly. It was disgust.

And she had run from him then, tears slipping, falling. She hadn't understood why Nate couldn't just wait for her until she was ready. Declarations of love did not necessarily lead to sex, did they? At least, not in Blair's world.

It had been Chuck who had found her sobbing in the bathroom, the faint smell of vomit permeating the air, Chuck who had stood on the balcony with her and listened as she complained about Nate's failures as a boyfriend, Chuck who had yelled – wait, not yelled, more like quietly scolded – at Nate for trying to take something from Blair that she wasn't ready to give it up.

Nate had nodded, and he and Blair had made up before the clock had struck twelve. Midnight had found them in each other's arms, standing on the balcony where they had, only hours ago, professed their love for each other.

But Blair would never forget how eager Nate had been to take her into the bedroom. And a small part of her wondered if he had only told her he loved her to get her into bed.

And she would _never _forget that Chuck had been the one who was there for her then. Serena couldn't have been, of course – she was off at boarding school. But Nate wasn't there. He could have been. But he wasn't.

And Chuck was.

Another year went by. Nate and Blair became...Nate and Blair. The classic, perfect couple who is not quite as perfect as they seem.

And it was spring, spring of Blair's junior year, when they told her.

The sky was clear, cloudless. The air was fresh and balmy, and the petals of silky flowers drifted noiselessly through the air and landed in Blair's wavy locks. She giggled a little, happy she had decided to walk to school. After all she had eaten at breakfast, she needed some exercise.

Even if she had purged it all afterwards…

She arrived at school in a rush of vanilla perfume and swinging skirts. She stepped right into the half-circle of laughing girls and joined in the merriment, trying to hide the way her pleated skirt hung off her bony hips and her breasts barely filled out her bra – which had fit her ever since the ninth grade. The other girls didn't notice, of course. They never did.

But he did.

She felt Chuck's eyes on her, but didn't acknowledge his presence. He was the only one who knew about her little "problem," and she intended to keep it that way. He was also the person she called whenever it became too much for her. Somehow, in the last couple of years, ever since that time he had found her in the girls' bathroom, he had become her protector.

But depending on Chuck was harder than depending on the release of skin and heartbeat. He comforted her, yes, but she wasn't sure she could trust him. He was still a playboy. And it just wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to heal her. Not completely, at least.

Sometimes, she simply fell into Chuck's waiting arms, tears mingling with breaths, hearts beating. Sometimes, she fell silent, eyes closed, a half-smile dancing across her face. And he would hold her, stroke her hair, whisper reassurances in her ear. And she would wait, wait for the urge to throw up to pass.

But she couldn't think of that now. She had a reputation to uphold.

She didn't acknowledge his presence, didn't turn his head, catch his gaze. No matter how much she needed him, she could never let him know.

Penelope nudged Blair with her elbow and whispered conspiratorially, "There's Nate now. Go be the willing girlfriend you are."

Blair wondered if she only imagined the hateful note in Penelope's voice. Sometimes, she was sure everyone only pretended to like her. It was certainly possible, considering how many of the people in her loosely tied group she had ruined with her diabolical plans.

But she pushed that thought away. It was time to be a girlfriend.

She plastered a fake smile on her face and strode up to Nate, trying not to feel self-conscious as she felt the heat of the girls' stares on her back. She was sure they could see the extra fat hanging off her thighs and the way her butt stuck out way too much...she sighed. She would have to be more careful, more diligent with her habit now. Cotillion was coming up in just a few weeks, and she had to fit into the dress her mother had had custom-made for her.

Blair walked right past Chuck without as much as a glance in his direction. She disregarded the involuntary shiver that passed through her when his fingers reached out to hers, brushing her skin lightly. She was used to it by now. It was his subtle reminder that he was there for her. It was helpful at times like this.

She always had trouble facing Nate now, although she wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it was because Serena had come back recently, thus unearthing a barrier between Nate and Blair that Blair had almost forgotten existed. Or maybe it was because Blair had gotten closer to Chuck in the past couple years, closer than she had ever wanted to be, and she couldn't look into Nate's eyes without realizing that she was now closer to Chuck than she was to him.

But she couldn't avoid talking to him. Penelope was watching her now, and so was everyone else on the Met steps.

She smiled at Nate when his arms snaked around her waist, laughed when he nuzzled her cheek with his lips, remembered why she loved him so when he gazed into her eyes and her heart stopped for a moment. "Hi." She murmured shyly, dropping her eyes as a slight flush crept into her cheeks.

"Hi." His tone was flirtatious, affectionate, and her breath caught in her throat. She looked up, catching his gaze with hers, and trailed his cheek with her finger, smiling.

"I love you." He whispered teasingly, his nose gliding along her lower lip.

She giggled and murmured the words back, but more out of habit than anything. She hadn't thought about what it meant to say them in a long time.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Chuck lurking next to the walls of the school. She expected him to smirk at her, or glare, or simply walk away. But he only nodded, almost imperceptibly, and looked at her levelly, some indecipherable emotion in his dark eyes.

Blair shook her head fervently, trying to free herself of the image, and reverted her attention to Nate, blinking away tears. The sudden moisture frightened her.

She wasn't supposed to feel that much. Not about Chuck.

Nate gently brushed his lips across hers and mumbled, "What's on your mind, Blair? You seem distracted."

Blair inwardly cursed. Of all the days he had to notice her, it had to be today?

She shook her head and brightly replied, enthusing her voice with just the right amount of cheerfulness, "No, I'm fine. I just have a Chemistry test today, and I'm a little worried is all."

The distance flew back into Nate's flat, glittering, boring eyes, and Blair shivered in a sudden moment of recognition. He didn't look at her when he next spoke. "Oh, I'm sure you'll do great. You always do."

He smiled briefly, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Blair cringed. He was looking at her distractedly, uninterestingly, as if she wasn't enough to gain his attention...but she had thrown up only this morning. How could he already be bored with her? How could she still not be enough for him?

She had to fix this. Now. She twined her arms around his neck and murmured, her eyes fixed on his, "Would you like to come over today?"

Nate nodded eagerly, but Blair saw his eyes roam the crowded street until they fell on the striking blond girl standing by the steps. Blair didn't miss the smile that ghosted across his face. Her throat tightened, and she gulped, anxiously trying to expunge the jealousy flaming in her heart. She wrenched her eyes away from Nate's and breathed heavily for a long moment.

Nate looked at her worriedly and asked, "What's wrong?"

But Blair extracted herself from his grip and stepped back quickly, realizing that, indeed, something was very wrong. She blinked, then blinked again, trying to piece together the puzzle: the light in Nate's eyes when he saw Serena, how distracted he was today, the way Chuck had ducked the question of why Serena had left in the first place…

But she didn't have to wait for the realization to hit her, for as soon as she stepped towards Nate once more, her phone vibrated, and she froze, panicked. It wasn't a text from a friend, that much she knew. Nate was next to her, Chuck was off wallowing in self-pity, and Serena was in a meeting with Headmistress Kweller. So it must be…but, no. She couldn't think about it. Because if she did, she was sure she would throw up the little that remained in her stomach.

But she forced herself to reach into her bright blue leather Balenciaga bag, forced herself to retrieve her Sidekick, flip it open, and read the words that found her on the ground, the world spinning faster and faster, only moments later.

_Gossip Girl here, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan's elite._

_For all you guys – and girls – wondering why your favorite socialite disappeared last September, methinks it was guilt. The Shepherd wedding. A certain blue-eyed boy__much too intoxicated to be responsible for his actions. A certain golden-haired girl perhaps just sober enough to be willing. What a soap opera. Much too undignified for us Upper East Siders. But at least we can all guess what happened next ;)_

_Oh, __**S**__. We've missed you._

_Careful, __**B**__. Infidelity lurks around every corner._

_xoxo,_

_Gossip Girl_

It was bright when Blair awoke. She was in an unfamiliar room, a room with unattractive linoleum paneling and a distinct, acrid smell of bleach. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and sat up quickly, determined to get out of…wherever she was.

But the sudden rush of blood to her head cleared the haze over her thoughts, and she stumbled to her feet, memories flooding her mind. She was too weak to fight them, and she let them consume her. She needed to feel the pain of the betrayal for a moment, just a moment. But then she sank to the ground, her knees buckling. She heaved a sigh and lay her cheek against the cold floor, hoping to feel some relief from the feverish heat in her body.

She could not, however, relieve the ache in her heart. Her chest hurt, hurt, hurt. It was all just a cloud of red, angry pain. She couldn't think clearly.

But she refused to think about Nate and Serena's betrayal, because it had not been confirmed yet by the bastards themselves.

Blair pulled herself to her feet wearily and leaned against the wall, trembling slightly. She gave forth a soft sign of surprise when she realized Chuck was sitting on the bed across from her. Her eyes locked with his.

His gaze penetrated hers for a long moment before he whispered, "Hi."

She blushed. "Hi. How long was I out?"

Chuck smiled a little and shook his head, averting his eyes. "Not very long. Nate wanted to wake you up, but Serena thought it wasn't a good idea. My only input was that we should get you out of the public eye."

Blair nodded gratefully. She was glad that he alone had remembered, had understood, that what she would have wanted most was to suffer in silence.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, refusing to even consider crying right now.

Chuck sighed. "Well, basically you fainted. It was quite a show actually."

Blair looked stricken, and Chuck hurried to reassure her. "No, not like that. People were concerned more than anything, surprisingly enough. And Nate managed to make sure no one got any pictures."

Blair allowed herself a brief smile. Nate. Always the gentleman.

The same Nate who had slept with Serena. The same Nate who had slept with her best friend.

Blair clenched her fists and struggled to keep the anger out of her voice. "Where is he?"

Chuck's expression was unreadable, but Blair knew him well enough to see the rage in his dark eyes. She also saw concern, but not for the first time. It had been a long time since Chuck Bass had looked at her cruelly. That illusion of hatred towards her had fallen away long ago, and now, he was just her friend. And sometimes, she allowed him to be more, allowed him to blur the lines and hold her in his arms, because she needed to feel contact, heat. It was all she had left.

He tore his gaze away from hers and spoke softly, menacingly, "He's in school, just like you and I both should be. But I convinced the nurse that it'd be better if we stayed here for a while."

Blair smiled. She knew _exactly _how Chuck had convinced the nurse.

But she said nothing. It was none of her business, and besides, there was something she had to ask him.

"Is it true?"

The words hung in the air, and Blair wished she could take them back. She knew by his silence that he could only nod, could only tell her that, yes, her boyfriend had slept with her best friend. Perhaps it was better that he say nothing at all.

"How long have you known?"

Blair's question was so sudden that Chuck didn't even think about denying knowledge. "A couple months."

Blair glared at him. "And you didn't tell me?"

Chuck hung his head, ashamed, but, as always, defiant. "Come on, Waldorf. Do you really think I value your friendship over Nathaniel's?"

Blair shook her head.

"And he confessed to me in a drunken stupor. He doesn't even know I know." Chuck's voice was sneering, hurtful, but his words didn't pierce Blair's heart as they should have. She was beyond feeling anything.

"Oh." She nodded stupidly and closed her eyes, reveling in the welcoming darkness. It was a haven, her mind, despite all it had suffered in the years Blair had willingly hurt herself.

Chuck sighed and muttered grudgingly, "But you should talk to dear Nathaniel yourself. I'm sure he can give you the details."

Blair could tell he was trying to hurt her, and he succeeded. She sharply exhaled and brought her hand to her chest, clenching her heart in pain. She didn't want to think about Nate and Serena, together, in a bed, making love…it made her cry out, a broken, feral sob that ripped through the already festering wound in her chest. She clutched her wrist, trying in vain to escape the chains of sorrow that held her captive. But the damage was done. She could not fix herself now.

She let the waves of pain have their way for a moment, then pushed them back.

Blair nodded numbly, the beat of her heart a dull ache now. "I suppose he'll try to convince me it didn't mean anything."

Chuck laughed, a harsh sound that reverberated through the thin walls of the unsightly room and hurt Blair's ears. "And he would be perfectly correct. Waldorf, no one _makes love_. You need to wrap your pretty little head around that."

His words were true, that much Blair knew. Sex was meaningless.

To everyone but her.

"And this is coming from you? Typical." Blair sneered, her voice wavering with ill-concealed fear and sorrow. She didn't want to push him away, not after this. He was the only person that still mattered to her.

But she had to. She had to let him go, had to make him leave her alone. She had to push him away, simply so she could be free to yell at Nate, glare at Serena, and then relieve herself of the heavy, extra weight in her stomach. It was the only way she knew how to save herself anymore.

Chuck laughed at her again, but this time it was broken, feeble. He was trying so hard to hurt her. But he couldn't. Just as she couldn't really hurt him. It wouldn't be long before they both let the facade fall away, before they both stopped trying to hurt each other. It just took too much out of them to pretend they hated each other.

But she had to try. She had to try to be perfect.

"Well," Blair heaved a sigh, closing her eyes, wishing desperately that she just could get out of there, get away from Chuck's penetrating gaze. He saw too much. He _knew_ too much. "I should go talk to him, then."

"Yes, I suppose you should. Relieve Nate of his guilt a little." Chuck's voice was small, a faint echo of his usual leering smirk.

Blair shivered. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

She turned away from him, faced the door, cringed a little. She could feel the tension in the air. Because as much as she wanted to escape Chuck, she also wanted to stay. He was the only one who really knew her, who really knew what was going on. And besides, she couldn't quite think about what she was planning to do. It was too scary, and too...different. She and Nate had never had a fight before. She didn't know how to argue with him.

So maybe it'd be easier to stay with Chuck.

But no. She couldn't let herself worry about confronting Nate. She had to do it. She'd never be able to live with herself if she didn't.

"Goodbye, Chuck." She whispered. She knew this farewell wasn't just for now. It was for forever.

"Goodbye, Blair." She faltered slightly at the soft voice. He hadn't called her Waldorf. And for some reason, that affected her more than everything else.

But she strode out of the room, not looking back, her heart breaking as she walked, the full impact of what had just happened stabbing her in the chest like an icy dagger. And she headed towards the courtyard, ignoring the heat of the girls' glares on her back and the hushed voices filling the air. She only had eyes for one man, one man who she wished she had never known in the first place.

No, that wasn't true. Nate was Blair's first love. One does not renounce their first love. No matter what happens after that love.

His back was turned to her when she approached him, and she could see that he was laughing. She clenched her fists angrily. What nerve he had, to be having fun after the entire school had found out he had slept with his girlfriend's best friend.

Blair stumbled a little, images forcing their way through the thick walls of her memory. She didn't want to remember them. She pushed them away frantically, ignoring the gold, the blue, the long, lanky limbs entwined...she forced her eyes to stay open, knowing the darkness was anything but safe now. It held too much she fought to suppress.

She tapped Nate on the shoulder pointedly and waited for the easy smile to drift across his face, waited for the understanding to alight in his eyes, as it always did.

But he only looked at her coldly. And Blair realized then that she had lost him, lost him to Serena.

And she froze. Because losing him meant losing everything she had: her status as Queen Bee, her mother's approval, that faint glimmer of envy in Serena's eyes sometimes when she saw Blair and Nate share a moment...no, Blair could not lose Nate. Not in this lifetime.

And so she pulled herself together, breathing deeply, averting her eyes. Nate's gaze only distracted her. And she finally whispered haltingly, no longer able to pretend she was strong and perfect and in control, no longer able to be the Blair everyone knew and feared, "Is it true?"

Nate's features suddenly distorted, and it pained Blair to see the beauty dissolve out of his face. He wasn't handsome when he was caught in a lie, she realized.

He shook his head, drawing her away from the willing crowd. He clutched her arm anxiously and wrenched his face to hers, his eyes pleading. "You have to understand, Blair. I never meant to - "

Blair waved a hand airily, as if his deception had meant nothing to her – and truly, it hadn't, she tried to convince herself – and snapped irritably, "I don't care. Is it true?"

Nate stared down at her wordlessly, and she smiled slightly, laughing then at the endearing confusion in his eyes. After all these years, she could still stop him in his tracks, stop him cold, with just a few words. But then she cursed herself. That didn't matter now. It didn't matter that she could still control him, because she realized she didn't want to.

But that didn't mean his betrayal didn't hurt her.

She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, the breath hitching in her throat. This was the man she loved, the man she had trusted with her heart and, even, her life...and he had betrayed her, hurt her in the cruelest way possible.

But that didn't matter, either. If there was one thing she could still salvage, it was her dignity. She could still make him look like the bad guy.

And she wanted to slap him. She wanted to place a stinging hand to his cheek and yell at him for sleeping with her best friend and cry her heart out to him. She wanted to make him feel bad for what he had done. She wanted to scream, scream for all the world to hear, scream that she couldn't believe she hadn't been enough for him. She wanted to tell him she was glad he had slept with Serena, skanky, slutty, _used_ Serena, because now at least he'd be with that whore like he'd always wanted to.

But she was perfect. And she was a Waldorf. And Waldorfs didn't do things like that.

And so when Nate nodded slowly, Blair simply murmured, "Thank you. That's all I needed to hear."

And then she walked away.

She breathed a tear-laden sigh of relief when she was finally free of his iron-fettered grip. She didn't have to deal with him anymore. She didn't have to pretend everything was okay. Because it wasn't. And because for him, for everyone at school, for Gossip Girl herself, she had to be perfect. And even for someone like Blair Waldorf, it was just too much sometimes.

Blair walked towards the front of the school, her knees weak with gratitude that she could finally just go home. She flipped open her Sidekick and deleted the text from Gossip Girl without a second thought before calling Dorota and barking a harsh, "Dorota! Bring the car around. I need to come home right now."

And she hung up.

A black limo, the windows dark, the plush leather interior a welcome escape, pulled up shortly after, and Blair extended one leg into the car, a single tear trembling on her eyelid.

But Serena Van der Woodsen grabbed her arm and spun her around to face her, liquid ice blazing into warm, broken chocolate.

Blair flinched. It was hard to think of pushing her away, because she was Blair's best friend, one of the only people she truly had fun with. It was hard, yes. Blair didn't want to give her up, not over a guy. But Nate wasn't just any guy. Nate was _her _guy. And it was so much harder to look at those eyes, eyes that were so much like Nate's, eyes that had seen Nate naked and had closed in waves of pleasure...

And so Blair carefully extracted her arm from Serena's grip and climbed into the car without looking at the blond again.

It was hard, yes, hard to walk away. But it was so much harder to face the truth, to face the idea of Nate and Serena in bed together.

Blair laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. A porcelain toilet awaited her at home. And Chuck. He would be there as well.

She might survive, she told herself. She just might.


	3. Vulnerable

**A/N: This update did not take as long as I expected, and I was a little worried about that at first, but now I think I'm okay with it. Also, sorry about the length. I know this chapter's sort of insanely long, but I just couldn't find a good stopping point. I hope it doesn't bother you too much ;)**

**The next update should be sometime next week or even this weekend, depending on my schedule. **

**Thank you for reading! Enjoy :)**

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Chapter 3

Vulnerable

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_As I exhale, I hear your voice  
And I answer you, though I hardly make a noise  
And from my lips the words I choose to say  
Seem pathetic, but it's fallen man's praise  
- When I Go Down by Relient K_

The movements that brought Blair up the penthouse stairs, into her room, and through the threshold of her newly renovated bathroom were heavy, labored, lethargic. She didn't have the energy to run towards the release she needed, didn't have the strength to remain standing for longer than a moment. She felt tired, so tired, drained of hope and courage and, really, any desire to live.

It would be easier to just close her eyes and let the darkness take her away, wouldn't it?

But no. She could only imagine how horrified her mother would be, not to mention the silly, vapid girls of Constance Billiard. No, Blair could not give up, no matter how much she wanted to.

She walked out of the bathroom, clenching her fists. She didn't know how to survive this.

Her eyes fell on the phone by her bed, and she pressed the pretty blue buttons hopefully, a small part of her wishing that Nate had called her. But there was only one message, and it wasn't from Nate, and certainly not from Serena.

It was from Chuck.

_Waldorf, get your lazy ass out of your penthouse and come back to school. _Blair cringed, but smiled. At least he noticed she had left. _This doesn't do you any good, really. You know that. Nate wants you back, of course _– did Blair only imagine the jealousy in his voice? – _and Serena is desperate. It's only been twenty minutes, and already Headmistress Kweller is looking for you. _And then his voice grew soft, coaxing. _Come on, Blair. Don't run away. Face your demons._

_Please._

The persistent beep signalling the end of the recorded message startled Blair, and she stared at the phone. She was confused, to say the least. This type of message was exactly the sort of thing Chuck avoided. It was murky territory, to put it bluntly. It crossed the clearly defined line between friends and…whatever else they were. He didn't cross that line. It was Blair who usually did, Blair who usually reached out to him and pleaded, "Stay with me" when he most needed to want to leave. It would have been healthier for him, she knew, if he wanted to leave her. But he could never want to leave her. She needed him too much.

And he could never let her drown. Nate had done that enough.

But as touched and dazed as Blair was by Chuck's message, she was also hurt. Did he think she was a coward for leaving school? Did he think she should just forgive Nate and Serena and forget any of it had ever happened?

Because she couldn't. She couldn't forgive and forget. She usually couldn't, actually. She liked to hold grudges; it was who she was. But this was different. This sort of betrayal was not something she – or anyone, for that matter – could accept and forget in the space of an hour. She needed time.

Didn't he know this was the only way she knew how to deal with her problems?

She pressed the DELETE button on the phone and sighed in satisfaction. There. She had just deleted Chuck from her life.

But she frowned at the thought. Chuck was perhaps the only part of her life she didn't want to let go of. At least, not now.

The thought had her running back into the bathroom, her heart thudding in her throat. She couldn't _want_ Chuck in her life. It wasn't who she was. It wasn't who she wanted to be. She was Blair Waldorf, the perfect society girl with the dashing Nate Archibald by her side and the beautiful Serena Van der Woodsen as her best friend.

But she was no longer Blair Waldorf. She had lost Nate, had lost Serena. And, somehow, she had lost herself in the process.

And the only way to find her way back was to do what she always did.

And so she peeled off all her clothes and gazed at her reflection in the gilded mirror for a long moment. She didn't feel self-conscious when she stood like that. It was just her and a mirror, a mirror that didn't tell her she should be more like Serena, a mirror that didn't sleep with her best friend, a mirror that didn't catch the eye of everyone in the room just by flipping her hair.

And so she looked at herself, her dark eyes instinctively criticizing every smooth expanse of skin, every flaw and every excess. She stepped closer to the mirror, trying to see what Nate saw when he looked at her. She needed to know what disgusted him so much. Maybe then, she could fix it. Maybe then, Nate would love her again.

But she couldn't. She could never be enough.

Her face fell as her hands glided across her chest, across the breasts that were barely a B-cup, even though she had once approached a C-cup.

She allowed herself a brief smile, remembering how Serena had exclaimed in delight when Blair had told her that the light blue La Perla lingerie she had bought actually fit her now.

But the corners of Blair's mouth drooped almost immediately. Serena. She couldn't think of that now. She couldn't think of her best friend, the best friend she had pushed away, the best friend who had also, coincidentally, slept with her best friend.

And so, not for the first time, Blair refocused her eyes on the mirror and stared at her stomach, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. She walked away angrily and leaned over the toilet, her chocolate curls falling over her face, hiding her from the rest of the world. She plunged a finger down her throat, ignoring the impulse to gag, and waited for the bile to rise up in her mouth.

But nothing happened, and she remembered she had purged that morning after breakfast. There was nothing left in her stomach. She would have to binge.

Blair cringed at the idea. She didn't want to eat now.

But she flushed the empty toilet and hastily shrugged into a silk robe hanging on the door, tears relentlessly flowing down her cheeks now. She didn't want to think about what she was about to do. It was so self-degrading, so _beneath _her. She shouldn't have to stoop to this level to survive school, to survive life. But perhaps that was who she was now, she realized. Maybe she wasn't perfect Blair Waldorf with her perfect boyfriend anymore. Maybe, she was Blair, the girl with the bulimia and the guy who always saved her, even though she didn't really ask him to.

But for now, she would try to be Blair Waldorf, because it was the only thing she knew how to do.

As Blair Waldorf left her bedroom, she caught a glimpse of a scarf fluttering in the breeze from the open window, and she reached for it, her fingers locking around the checkered fabric. She held it to her face and breathed in Chuck's distinctive smell. He had left the scarf there the last time he had saved her from herself.

Blair hoped that he would know to come save her now. She didn't want him to, exactly. But she needed him to.

She wound the scarf around her pale neck and flew down the stairs, hoping desperately that Dorota was in a different part of the apartment. The last thing she needed right now was for her maid to look at her in concern and ask her what was wrong.

Dorota wasn't anywhere in sight, thankfully, and so Blair crept into the cold, lifeless kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door, her dark eyes greedily scanning the shelves stacked with cakes and chocolates. There was so much to choose from…but it didn't really matter what she reached for. She just needed food, needed it right now, needed to feel the sweet sugar slide down her throat. She wasn't hungry, not at all. She was anxious, itching to die and break. She was hungry for release, and the only release she knew was the release of intake and outtake. Eat, then throw up. Binge, then purge. An endless cycle she would never escape.

She reached into the fridge, enjoying the caress of the cold air on her skin, and pulled out a chocolate mousse cake, complete with marzipan roses and swirls of decorative frosting, and a box of gourmet European chocolates her father had sent home from his recent honeymoon in Sweden.

Her father. He was gone, too. He had left so long ago, left her and her pathetic mother. If Eleanor Waldorf could even be called a mother.

Blair swallowed the tears fluttering in her chest and didn't think about her father's abandonment. She knew it hadn't been about her. Her father had left her mother, not her. She had told Eleanor that once. But that didn't mean that his absence hadn't torn a hole in her heart. The perfect family she had once had…gone. Nothing in her life was perfect anymore.

Least of all herself.

And so, deciding to further mess herself up so Chuck could come fix her, Blair surveyed her parents' (or parent's, rather) liquor cabinet and retrieved a bottle of vodka. She giggled in anticipation.

But then she was lost, and broken, and defeated. She thought about what Nate and Serena had done, and she could barely breathe. She wanted to hurt herself, wanted to make herself feel unworthy of attention or love. She wanted to die, scream, cry, just so they would regret the act of…it wasn't love, really – at least Blair hoped it wasn't – they had both agreed to. She wanted to make them see what they had made her do to herself.

But she realized they wouldn't care. And the thought made her close her eyes in despair and shovel a piece of cake into her open, waiting mouth.

Blair ignored the tears falling down her face as she began the habit she never tired of. She didn't need the sorrow right now. She needed this.

A marzipan rose, for Nate's laughter when she had gone to confront him.

A mint-filled chocolate ganache ball, for Serena even daring to look at Blair after what she had done.

A spoonful of chocolate mousse, right off the top of the custom-made cake, for the insults she was sure to receive from her mother when she found out that Nate had slept with Serena.

And then, a swig of vodka, for the worst of all. A drink, because she needed Chuck to save her, and he couldn't come, because no one could know that they were actually friends.

And Blair repeated the pattern, again and again, ignoring the steady tick-tock of the clock behind her, conveniently not hearing the incessant ringing of her cell phone. She kept going, devouring the cake slice by slice, eating every chocolate in the box, downing the bottle of vodka faster than she'd ever thought possible.

And then, Blair felt like she was going to throw up, and she was glad. She could finally get rid of that ache in her chest, that pain swelling in her gut, that little voice in her head that constantly reminded her that she wasn't good enough for anyone.

Oh, she needed Chuck. But he wasn't there, because she had said goodbye.

Blair stumbled into the bathroom, her eyes glazing over. She stared at herself in the mirror once more, hating what she saw. Her curls were frizzing, her part was messed up, her skin was flaky, her hips were too wide, her butt was sagging…the list went on and on. And she thought of even more things as she walked over to the porcelain toilet. There was so much wrong with her. She was damaged, used. An empty shell of who she used to be. She felt beaten. She felt dead.

But she was determined to be enough for everyone she had to impress. If this was the only thing she could do to make Nate love her and her mother pay attention to her and Serena be jealous of her, she would do it.

Because she was a Waldorf. And Waldorfs were perfect.

And so she leaned over the toilet for the third time that day and threw up, wrinkling her nose at the stench. She was past being disgusted at the act, but the smell still triggered her gag reflex. And so she threw up again, emptying her stomach of the cake and the chocolates and the vodka. It was a kind of sick pleasure, really. She hated the way it felt, hated the sensation of liquid and bile flying up her throat. But she relished the sight of the contents of her stomach floating around in the torrid water. It was her problems there in the toilet. And all of it, everything, was being flushed away.

Oh yes. A sick pleasure.

She had to do it. She couldn't stop herself, not this time.

She waltzed over to the mirror when she was done, proud that she had successfully thrown up everything she had eaten that day – and then some - and inspected her robe-clothed body carefully.

She was dismayed by what she saw. She was _still _fat! How was that even possible?

She ran to the toilet and bent down, color – was it excitement or embarrassment? She didn't know – flooding her cheeks. She clenched the smooth porcelain and gasped for air, her breath heavy in her ears. She tried to throw up again, heaving a sigh, panting, stretching, wishing. But nothing happened.

And so she began to cry.

She couldn't believe that her attempts to be skinny had failed. All these years, all the hours spent in the bathroom, all the missed dinners and trips to the doctor. All these years she had wasted trying to make herself good enough. And it was all in vain. Because she still wasn't perfect.

No wonder Nate wanted Serena, Blair thought bitterly. She was skinnier than his bulimic girlfriend, without even trying. Not that he knew about Blair's condition. Not that she would ever tell him. He could never know.

Blair was sure that if she told him, he would look at her with unconcealed disgust and leave her.

Yes, in a way, he had already left, Blair mused. But she could get him back. And she would. Even if she had to manipulate her best friend. Even if the strain of the effort killed her. She would find her way back into Nate's arms. Somehow.

Yet another reason why he could never know about…what she did. She couldn't think the words. Blair knew he wouldn't want a girl who hurt herself, even if it was her. _Especially_ if it was her. She was so put-together, so clean and effortless in his eyes. If he knew what she did to be perfect…no, he could never know. Blair shook her head subconsciously.

She looked at the vomit in the toilet and sighed heavily. She still wasn't enough.

She flushed the toilet and sank down to the floor, leaning against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She didn't bother to wipe away the tears that flew down her cheeks. She didn't have the strength to.

The moments stretched on, and Blair grew tired. Of the bathroom, of the toilet, of herself. The smell had pervaded the room, and it was almost unbearable. It was too much a reminder of what she had done to herself.

What seemed like hours passed before Dorota appeared in Blair's doorway and peered at the younger girl with inquisitive eyes. The knowledge dawned on her face when her gaze swept back and forth between the toilet and Blair, and she placed a hand on her ample hip and chastised her charge, "Miss Blair, we talked 'bout this. This is no good for you. You know that!"

Blair sighed and turned her head away, grumbling, "Go away, Dorota. I want to be alone."

Dorota shook her head and thought for a moment. "I call Mr. Chuck, okay?"

Blair looked at the woman and nodded before closing her eyes. "Yes. Call Chuck."

Dorota nodded triumphantly and strode away purposefully, waddling a little. But Blair couldn't laugh at the sight. Chuck was coming.

She needed him to come, needed him to hold her and tell her it would all be okay, but she didn't want him to see her like this. It had been years since he had caught her in the Constance Billiard bathroom that one fall day of freshman year, but she still couldn't get over the shock of letting him see her so vulnerable, so broken. It went against everything she believed in. He was used to the perfect Blair, as everyone was, the prim and proper Blair who never raised her voice and who answered everyone politely, if somewhat irritably. She didn't want him to see her at her worst, see her when she smelled of vomit and her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail.

And yet…a small part of her was glad he was coming to save her. He didn't treat her any differently when he came to talk to her after she'd thrown up. He still called her Waldorf, still playfully threw insults at her. And Blair needed that. She was sure he was the only person who would ever treat them the same, the two sides of herself. He was the only person who would ever really know her.

And so she did want him to come. She needed him to come.

Blair didn't realize she was holding her breath until Chuck Bass appeared on the threshold of her bathroom and she let out a sigh of relief. He was here. He had come. She could brave any storm now.

But she only looked at him for a long moment, shrugging apologetically, feeling a little bit embarrassed. She wasn't supposed to keep breaking down like this. It had been two years since the first time. She should have gotten over it by now. But she hadn't, and she knew she wouldn't without Chuck's help. He knew it, too. He wouldn't turn away from her now. He had never abandoned her when she was like this. She didn't know why, didn't like to think about why, but it was the truth.

He slowly walked over to her and lightly brushed his lips across her forehead, whispering against her skin, "Blair, what happened?"

She trembled at his touch and reached for his hand, sharply exhaling when his fingers twined around hers. He had never let her get this close to her. She reveled in the sudden proximity, murmuring, her eyes shut tight, "I don't know."

Chuck sighed exasperatedly and protested, "Come on, Waldorf! You've got to give me some answers here."

Blair looked at him levelly, her hand still grasping his, and snapped, "Why should I? Nate's your best friend. You're the last person I want to talk to about this."

"No." Chuck shook his head, and his voice was soft, gentle, like he was trying to comfort her. Blair wasn't used to it, and she blinked a couple times, lost in this new sensitivity. How should she cope with it? But Chuck only smiled a little and continued, "No, Blair. I'm the only person you want to talk about this."

Blair glared at him, but he tucked a stray lock of chestnut hair behind her ear and asked again, "What happened?"

Blair sighed. It was time to give in. "Well, I went to see Nate, just like you told me to." Her voice was quiet, subdued. "Obviously, Bass, you know nothing about dear Archibald. I mean, really, you and your inaccurate predictions…He didn't try to convince me it didn't mean anything. He just let me leave."

A whisper of pain seeped into her voice, and she cried out, realizing suddenly that Nate had not even tried to salvage their relationship. He had simply let her go.

Was she really worth that little? Could he really discard her that easily?

Apparently, he could.

Chuck pulled Blair into his arms and whispered, his lips gliding across her hair, "You'll have to forgive dear Nathaniel. He's often very thickheaded when it comes to girls – or should I say women? Especially when it comes to beautiful and delicate ones like you."

Blair's breath caught in her throat when the compliment left his lips, but the smile in his voice left her cold. He was obviously just joking, as he always was with her. And she hated him for it. Why couldn't anyone say something nice about her and actually mean it? Was that too much to ask?

Chuck lifted her chin with his finger, interrupting her reverie, and peered into her grieving eyes, whispering, "The rest of the story, then."

She nodded. "I called Dorota, and the limo came to pick me up, and then Serena…"

Chuck pulled back slightly and stroked her cheek with his finger, imploring, "Serena…?"

Blair forced herself to look at him. "Serena – the bitch that she is – found me. Of course, she wanted me to forgive her, but she didn't deserve it." Blair broke off, the strain bleeding in her voice. "Doesn't deserve it, I mean." She corrected herself, ignoring the stab of pain that pulsed through her when she spoke the words. "She had the nerve – I mean, really, after what she did? - to look at me, and I don't know…I just had to get away."

She swallowed the tears threatening to consume her and turned her head to bury her face in Chuck's chest. "And then I went home, and I thought about it, and I ate a lot and then I drank – "

"Blair, what did you drink?" Chuck interrupted, his voice suddenly urgent and worried.

Blair looked up at him, smiling a little at the concern in his dark eyes, and replied, "A bottle of vodka."

Chuck dropped his eyes, hiding whatever emotion it was that he didn't want Blair to see, and whispered to the ground, "You are, without a doubt, the most uneducated person in the art of drinking I have ever known."

Blair laughed gently, because unlike everyone else, Chuck didn't mean what he said. He only insulted her to cover up what he was really trying to say. And that made Blair feel worthy of his concern, even though she didn't understand what he had said. "What do you mean?" she asked confusedly.

"Waldorf," Chuck sighed frustratedly, and Blair chuckled. "A bottle of vodka? You know you're a lightweight."

"Well," began Blair, wrenching her hand away from Chuck's and crossing her arms across her chest defensively, "I wasn't exactly thinking straight, which you would know if you had been – "

She clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing her mistake. She hadn't meant to reveal that she had expected Chuck to come save her. He wasn't supposed to know she had depended on him to stop her from hurting herself again.

That was too much, too soon.

He glared at her for a long moment. "You expected me to come?"

Blair averted her eyes and nodded, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant. This was Chuck Bass. She couldn't believe she had really expected him to stop whatever he was doing – or _who_ever he was doing, she thought with a smile – and come find her, all without her ever explicitly telling him she needed him. That wasn't the way their friendship worked. She asked, he gave. He didn't just help her without being asked. It wasn't the way it worked.

But Chuck lifted her chin with one finger and looked at her for a long moment, his expression tender. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me, Waldorf. Next time, be more clear about your desires."

Blair nodded and let Chuck pull her into his arms, burying her head in his chest. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar, and not entirely unwelcome. It had been a long time since she had last called him after an episode; she had fought against the instinct to reach out to him for the past couple of weeks. But her need for him had won out over her desire for independence He was essential to her survival.

After a long moment of silence, Chuck whispered, "Are you okay?"

Blair shook her head and murmured, her words muffled by the coarse fabric of his unbuttoned dress shirt, "Not yet."

Chuck nodded and reminded her, "But you know I'll be here."

Blair pulled away from him, unnerved by the raw emotion burning in his voice, and searched his face curiously. She was surprised by the affection and pain haunting his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, cursing herself for knowing him as well as she did.

He dropped his eyes and whispered, "Nothing. I just…"

"You just what?" Blair's voice was high-pitched, screechy, hysterical.

Chuck forced his gaze back to hers and whispered, "I don't know how to do this. Comfort you, I mean."

She smiled. "You're doing fine."

His answering smile sparked a question in her mind, and she thought for a moment. She couldn't really ask him, actually. He probably had an appointment with a hooker or something. But she would need him. She was sure of it.

She gulped anxiously and let the words spill out of her mouth. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

He looked at her quizzically, his perfectly manicured eyebrows raising in disbelief. He shook his head, laughing to himself.

"What is it?" Blair asked angrily, color flooding her cheeks, more with embarrassment than with rage. She couldn't believe she would ask him such a stupid question. Of course he would laugh at her. She had just asked him to spend the night with her. He had no reason to think she was serious. "What's so funny?"

Chuck shook his head again before suddenly gazing at her, his eyes smoldering. "Let me get this straight," he whispered, bringing his lips to her for a brief, bittersweet kiss that left Blair shaking, "You, Blair Waldorf, the Virgin Queen – " Blair glared at him, wordlessly reminding him that the man she had been planning to lose her virginity to had lost his to her best friend, and he cowered from her in mock fear and continued, " – want me, Chuck Bass, to spend the night with you?"

Blair nodded fervently.

"Well then," he whispered, his voice affectionate, his eyes soft, "Where should I…in the bed, I presume?"

His last words were spoken teasingly, accompanied by a leery half-smile, and Blair couldn't help but smile. This was more like their old friendship, a friendship that had changed so much she hardly knew how to classify it. And for a moment, she could only stare at him, her eyes locked on his, subconsciously leaning toward him. She suddenly felt very warm, the heat in her cheeks flaming. But she wasn't blushing, she realized. She was…_glowing_.

No. She couldn't be glowing. She couldn't be feeling this way. No.

Chuck's hands were on her face then, distracting her, his eyes searching, the smile gone, the light lost. "Blair? What's wrong? What happened?"

But Blair could only shake her head, and smile a little. "The floor." She said hoarsely, "You'll take the floor."

He nodded, pulling her to her feet and holding her close to his chest as they walked out of the bathroom. It was a step, Blair thought to herself. A small step, but a step nonetheless.

The bed loomed large before them, and Blair noticed Chuck was blushing. She smiled. Chuck Bass didn't blush.

She stroked his cheek and whispered, "I'll take the bed, then. It'll be better that way." She winked at him, her heart pounding. She couldn't believe this was really going to happen. She was going to spend the night with Chuck Bass. Although, not in that sense.

Chuck smiled and dropped a kiss on her forehead, light as a feather, whispering, strangely comfortingly, his breath hot and welcome on her chilled skin, "Goodnight, Blair."

"Goodnight, Chuck." She closed her eyes, leaned into him, breathed in the smell of scotch and cigarettes, so familiar, yet so new now. "And thank you."

He nodded, and then the only sound was their breathing, rising and falling as one.

And Blair wondered if she only imagined it, the whisper in the middle of the night, the sound floating through the room, breezing on the open window, falling, hoping.

"I love you."


	4. One Kind Kiss Before We Part

**A/N: This chapter was hard for me to write, and it's a little shorter than I would have liked. But I feel like if I didn't stop where I stopped, it'd just feel unnatural and forced. So the end result is this.**

**This week is exam week, so the next update will probably take longer than this one did. Please stick with me :)**

**Also, I apologize for the confusion in the updating; I think those of you who have this story on story alert (thanks for that by the way!) received two emails saying I had added Chapter 5. Please disregard that. I only added one chapter :)**

**Thanks for reading. Enjoy!**

**P.S. The title is taken from a quote by Robert Dodsley.**

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Chapter 4

One Kind Kiss Before We Part

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_I watched you sleeping quietly in my bed  
You don't know this now but  
There's some things that need to be said  
And it's all that I can hear  
It's more than I can bear  
- Hazy (feat. William Fitzsimmons) by Rosi Golan _

It was light outside when Blair awoke. The slightly red rays of sunshine streaming in through the open window drifted a lazy smile across her face, and she yawned contentedly, not wanting to open her eyes just yet. The moment was too beautiful, too precious.

She sighed and turned to her side, nuzzling Chuck's chest with her cheek. And then she froze. Chuck.

Somehow, she mused, he had ended up next to her sometime in the night, sometime after he had whispered those three words that she almost hoped she had imagined…His fervent whisper of a goodnight had seen him to the floor, smothered in blankets, arm thrown behind him. And she had been on the bed. No, Chuck had not held Blair in his arms at the beginning, when they had first slipped into dreamless sleep. At least, she hoped he hadn't.

But sometime in the middle of the night, Blair remembered, she had risen from her bed and glided across the cold floor, her gaze falling on the sleeping form of Chuck Bass. She had stood there for a moment, her eyes roaming across the body she had often hoped she could feel the warmth of, her hands instinctively pushing the hair back from his forehead as she leaned over him. Looking at him then, the breath leaving her, a smile ghosting across her face as she marveled at his boyish features, something had changed.

And she had knelt beside him and brought her lips to his forehead, her hands trembling. She had breathed against his skin, her lips murmuring across the smooth expanse of life and exhaustion, "I love you."

She had walked away then, not looking back. She had missed the blush that crept into Chuck's cheeks, had missed the slight flutter of his eyelids as she fluffed the pillows on her bed and slid beneath the covers.

And Blair suddenly remembered that she had felt his arms encircle her only moments later. She had felt him pull back the covers and join her, and she had panicked. He must have heard the words she had whispered…but she hadn't wanted him to leave. She had not flinched when his hands had smoothed the hair brushing her forehead, had not trembled when he had burrowed his face into her neck and murmured, "Sleep, Blair." His words had been comforting, his voice low and urgent.

And so she had slept, restfully, hopefully.

She dared not wake him, not yet. For the moment he opened his eyes, he would surely shrink away from her in disgust, as Nate had always done. And Blair couldn't bear that, not again.

She clutched her stomach and waited for the wave of nausea to pass.

After a moment, she felt Chuck shift beside her, and she snapped her head up worriedly, peering into his tired eyes, amber in the light of dawn. He smiled at her, gently, uncertainty, and Blair faltered for a moment.

She suddenly couldn't remember why Chuck was with her, why he had come, why she felt desperately hungry. She looked away from him and closed her eyes, trying to remember what had happened the night before that had brought Chuck to her. She furrowed her brow in frustration, bracing herself for the onslaught of painful memories. But it didn't come, and she was dazed for a long moment, her eyes half-closed, her body feeling strangely supple as she stretched her arms above her head.

Blair wondered what had happened the night before, wondered why her head was pounding so. She couldn't understand why she didn't feel hung over, or dizzy. If she had been drunk the night before, that would explain her raging headache. But there weren't the usual telltale signs.

For one thing, she was dressed in a silk robe, the kind of robe she usually wore when she went to bed or when she…threw up, she supposed was the word. Her hair was not the mess it would have been if she had fallen into bed unconscious, and when her fingers anxiously traced the sagging skin beneath her eyes, she felt no residue of black smudge, no faint glitter of eye shadow. She obviously hadn't been drunk the night before.

So why couldn't she remember anything?

Blair forced her eyes back to Chuck's and looked at him questioningly, ignoring the tongue of fire that ripped through her when his hand reached out to her cheek, nonchalantly stroking the tautly stretched skin there. She swallowed and looked away, smiling involuntarily when his words floated over her, lulling her into a sense of security she knew wasn't false. "What? The floor's bad for my back."

Blair scoffed lightheartedly but refrained from answering. She didn't remember what had brought him to her, what had resulted in him sleeping on the floor. It was all a blur, a painful, suppressed blur that she didn't care to succumb to.

She smiled at Chuck and extracted herself from the comforting hold of his arms, lifted herself off the bed, walked to the center of the room. Stifling a yawn, she looked around the room worriedly, her heart racing in its desperate attempt to understand everything Chuck had done for her recently. The touch of his fingers when she went to talk to Nate, the wait with her in the infirmary, his instant agreement to stay with her that night…But no. She didn't want to understand.

She turned her back on him, closed her eyes, tried to find the strength to stay standing. She wanted to run into the bathroom, wanted to empty her stomach. This was all wrong, all of it.

Chuck's even, calm voice surprised her. "Don't, Blair."

She nodded, her eyes sweeping across the floor. She didn't want to disappoint him, not now. Because she'd have to later.

"Oh my god." she whispered, her voice dead, her body slumping to the floor. What had she done?

Blair subconsciously heard Chuck spring from the bed and run over to her, felt the creak of the wood as he positioned himself behind her, convulsed at the soft pressure of his hand on the base of her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head in pure terror, and she forced them open, watching as Chuck looked up at her confusedly, his lower lip trembling endearingly.

"What's wrong?" Blair could hear the concern in his voice, and she struggled to repress the memory of that first fall day he had found her in the bathroom.

She shook her head, ignoring the pain in his eyes. She only whispered, "What happened?"

He gulped, suddenly averting his eyes. "You mean you don't remember?" He looked almost…hurt.

Blair stared at him stubbornly, chocolate meeting caramel, resisting the memories that were fighting, pulling, screaming. But the sudden droop of his mouth made her hesitate, and the memories suddenly rushed at her. She didn't suppress them. She didn't have to. She didn't _want _to. It was night, not day. Love, not lust.

Love. She didn't mean to think that. She didn't love Chuck Bass. She _couldn't_ love Chuck Bass. Even if he had whispered the words, even if she had returned them. He was the most notorious playboy in all of Manhattan, and she was…well, untouched, she thought bitterly. She was known for her resistance when she was with Nate. She hadn't let him take it that far. It had been something special to her. And she had thought it had meant something to him.

But then he had given it away to Blair's best friend, and he and Blair had faded into oblivion. They had been beautiful, yes. But they were perfect no more.

She cringed at the thought. It hurt to think of her and Nate in the past tense, even though she had been preparing for that moment for almost two years. She had to get him back, if only for her sanity. She didn't love him, not anymore – she wondered if she ever had – but she and Nate were the Upper East Side's golden couple. She could not give that up.

She tore her gaze from Chuck's, ignoring the intensity of his eyes, and whispered, "No, I remember."

Chuck sighed in relief, and Blair touched his lips with one finger apologetically, hating to bring pain into those loving eyes. Her voice was firm, certain, resigned. And desperate. "We can't do this."

"Do what?" His voice was soft, light, easy. He sounded completely devoid of emotion.

But Blair knew better. She always had. He actually cared about what had happened. He had wanted the night to mean something to her, had wanted it to change things between them. And it had. But was that enough? How could she justify this night to her mother? To Serena?

She couldn't. The very idea was unthinkable.

Yes, nothing had happened between them, nothing she couldn't erase, nothing she couldn't forget. And yet…it meant more to her than any night she had spent with Nate ever had.

Blair smiled bitterly at the boy who had saved her so many times and murmured gently, touching a soft hand to his flushed cheek, "You and me. That's what isn't going to happen. It can't happen."

He only shook his head, and she winced at the pain in his eyes.

She didn't want to be the cause of that break, that loss. Not now. Not ever. He meant too much to her.

And so she sighed and whispered, "But I wish it could."

She leaned towards him, her lips hovering close to his, waiting, just waiting. She didn't have the strength to breathe in the air in between them, didn't know how to ask Chuck Bass for what she needed most: love. How could she ask him for something he didn't even believe in?

But he smiled at her, and his lips found hers in the next moment.

Blair lost herself in the moment, relished the tug of his hands on her hair, reveled in the pain, intertwined with pleasure, that pierced her to the core when his tongue clashed with hers. His breath poured into her, and she felt her chest rise and fall with his, felt his lips engulf hers as she unashamedly pulled him closer to her. The heat rippling through her flooded her every thought, and she clung to him weakly.

But then they pulled away, and they looked at each other, and the tears welled up in Blair's haunted eyes as she realized that she had just kissed Chuck Bass, and he had just kissed her, and no one but them would ever understand why.

She had spent the night with him. It was a night she should have regretted, a night she should have cried over, a night she should have been ashamed of. Because she had once promised herself that she wouldn't be one of Chuck Bass' many conquests. True, they had not slept together, but she had spent the night in his arms, fully clothed. That was almost worse.

And yet...she wasn't sorry it had happened. She had needed him, and he was there.

His eyes searched her face, but there was no hope there. She only shook her head, and he whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't think..."

Blair waved off his apology with a curt, "No worries."

He blinked at her, his expression twisting into something resembling confusion. "What are we going to do?"

Blair glared at him, her words cold, her voice emotionless, reminiscent of the woman she used to be before Chuck snapped her back to life. "We are going to do nothing. _I _am going to make sure that this never happens again."

Her gaze softened, her features transforming. "Do you have any idea the kind of social ruin we would suffer if anyone found about us?"

Chuck returned her uncharacteristically affectionate gaze with a heated, determined stare. "Come on, Waldorf. The concept of you and me doesn't even exist. All I did was help a friend in need. You can't consider that something Gossip Girl would condemn. Or Nate, for that matter."

Blair flinched, the thought of Nate making her clench her heart in pain. She sank to the floor, images she had fought to push away making a reappearance. Golden heads close together, navy blue meeting piercing blue…it was all too much.

Chuck froze. "Oh god, Blair, I didn't mean to…"

She simply nodded, too weak to speak.

He stood up fluidly and walked over to her, holding her gaze as her eyes rose to meet his. His arms snaked around her waist, and she eased into his embrace, breathing a soft sigh of relief. His mouth close to her ear, he whispered sincerely, "I really am sorry." He kissed her shoulder.

She shuddered guiltily at his touch and whispered, "I know you are. But if anyone knew…"

"If anyone knew?" His voice was defiant.

She twined her fingers through his, lightly squeezing his hand. She wanted nothing more than to hold him close to her. He was the only person who knew, the only person who helped. How could she give that up?

But they both had reputations to save. And they both had people to impress.

She replied gently, "It would ruin you. Chuck Bass, falling for a girl?" She scoffed. She couldn't quite believe it herself.

He was silent for a long moment, and she wondered if he would leave now, leave because she had just accused him – yes, accused, because to love, to fall for someone, was a crime to Chuck – of falling for her.

Blair winced. She didn't know how she'd survive her episodes without him. Because the night before, the night he had stayed with her without even trying to sleep with her, the love that had flashed through his eyes when her tears had kissed his cheeks had saved her, healed her. That moment had almost, almost numbed the pain of Nate and Serena's betrayal. She had found him, found someone who truly cared about her, and for that she would walk through fire. He was everything.

But he wasn't, really. He was just Chuck Bass. And she was just Blair Waldorf. They could never work.

He whispered, interrupting her rumination, "I don't care what people say."

But she did. It was what had brought her to him, crying, staring at the mess in the toilet. And he had not admitted that he had, indeed, fallen for her, that the way he had felt when she had lain in his arms, her tangled, beautiful mess of chestnut curls fanned across the pillow…that feeling, the feeling of loving and holding and _needing_, that feeling could never be replaced.

And so Blair did not tell him they would find a way to be together. She only turned around and smoothly wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest. "You were wonderful, really. But you and I both have lives, reputations. We can't do this."

He sighed in resignation, pulling her close to him. "Waldorf," he growled, lifting her chin, smiling playfully, "you are making this entirely too difficult for me."

Blair laughed breathlessly and countered, her words muffled by tears, "Well, Bass, if you recall, being difficult is my forte. Just ask my mother."

She had intended the comment to sound offhand, but her voice cracked as she spoke, and Chuck looked at her for a long moment, concern embedded in the coffee-colored depths of his eyes. His gaze penetrated hers for a moment, and with a sad, lopsided smile, he brought his lips to her cheek and dragged his mouth over her chilled skin, holding her tightly as she swayed a little.

"I guess this is goodbye then."

Blair nodded, lost in a silent sob, and reached for his hand. She needed to feel his skin on hers, just for a moment.

Chuck willingly laced his fingers through hers and closed his eyes, whispering, "Blair, I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked lightly, smiling ruefully, gratefully. "You saved me."

A whisper of emotion flew into Chuck's eyes, as if Blair's candid, frank mention of the night before had surprised him. But then he blinked it away, and the warmth in his face quickly froze. And everything Blair thought had changed between them suddenly seemed the way it had always been.

But she didn't flinch, didn't move, didn't worry. This was just Chuck's way of surviving, his way of pushing her away when he needed her most.

And so Blair murmured, reaching for the chance to salvage the last bit of hope in Chuck's dead eyes, wondering if she could ever really let go of him, "Don't give up on me yet. I'll be ready someday."

Chuck sharply inhaled, and Blair faltered, afraid she had said too much. She had spoken the truth, had taken the moment that had almost slipped away and forced him to see that she wasn't leaving him. But she would hurt him in the next moment, because the words that would leave her mouth were words that would scream agony and fire and loss.

And she had to say them. He deserved to know the truth, even if it killed her to say the words.

And so before he could speak, she dropped her gaze and whispered, "But I've got to go back to Nate."

She didn't have to look at Chuck to see the anger burning in his eyes. She could feel it. And she opened her mouth again, ready to tell him everything, to make him see that she didn't love Nate, not really, but that he was all she had ever known and that she couldn't let her mother have another excuse to hate her.

But Chuck wrenched her face up to his and hissed, "You're going back to him."

Blair nodded and murmured, "But only because – "

"There is no 'because,' Waldorf." His voice was bleak, and Blair longed to kiss his pain away. But she couldn't tell him she wasn't going back to Nate. She was.

Chuck didn't understand, of course. How could he? He only knew that Nate had broken Blair's heart. He couldn't understand that Blair needed Nate. Not so much their relationship, or even him. She needed the status, needed to know that she was still admired and that people still felt jealous of her.

And how could she tell Chuck that she would choose perfection over him, that she would rather be admired and miserable than scorned and impossibly, incandescently happy?

She couldn't. She didn't want Chuck to know that she was so desperate for perfection that she'd risk being with someone who didn't care about her just so society would accept her.

Blair could be happy with Chuck. She knew she could. But it wasn't enough.

And so she didn't reply when Chuck spat at her, his voice raw with pain and rage, "Enjoy poor Nathaniel's company."

And she let him stride out the door. She didn't plead with him not to leave her. It was better this way, she told herself, better that they not be friends. Or whatever they were.

And besides, she had Nate. She would get Nate back, and everything would be okay.

But Blair was falling, falling. The room spun around her, and she rushed to the bathroom, Chuck's face swimming in her mind.

He was gone.


	5. Be Blown With The Wind

**A/N: Here's the latest chapter. And thankfully, exam week is over, so the updates will probably be coming faster now. Yay! But on the other hand, I'm starting a new story soon, so updates might lag a little. I'm not sure which will happen, but please stick with me anyway ;)**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Julia Butterfly Hill.**

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Chapter 5

Be Blown With The Wind

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_There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave  
You were what I wanted  
I gave what I gave  
I'm not sorry I met you  
I'm not sorry it's over  
I'm not sorry there's nothing to save  
_- _Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars_

Blair wanted to throw up, wanted to stick a finger down her throat and flush the toilet until tears blurred in her glazed eyes. She wanted to expel the pain, the loss, and the overwhelming regret. She was standing in the bathroom, her knees giving way, her slender frame leaning further and further over the edge. She was dangerously close to oblivion. And she wanted to give in to the darkness.

But she couldn't.

She could still see the angry set of Chuck's jaw as he spat harsh, cruel words at her, could still trace the outline of his ghosted silhouette on the white door he had stormed out of only twenty minutes ago. He had been so angry…

And she hadn't even flinched, she marveled. She had let him hurt her, had let him twist her words, had let him scoff at her one chance at survival. Not happiness, she knew. She could never be happy with Nate.

Blair was surprised that it had hurt so much to see Chuck go. She had left Nate – or he had left her, depending on how she looked at it - and she had left Serena. All without a second glance. So why had the breath left her when Chuck, Chuck _Bass_, had pried open her heart, forced himself in, and then, without warning, left her to fend for herself?

She shook her head, shuddering at the sound of a soft knock on the bathroom door.

Dorota smiled a little and whispered cautiously, averting her eyes, "Miss Blair, I call Mr. Chuck?"

Blair's eyes hardened, and she spun around to face the woman who had known her all her life. How could Dorota not realize that Blair and Chuck were no longer…whatever they were?

But Blair faltered at the sight of the consternation in Dorota's motherly eyes, and her voice was soft when she spoke. "No, Dorota. Chuck and I had a…lovers' spat." She smiled to herself, her eyes tightening with remembrance. God, she missed him. "We won't be talking anytime soon."

A thought formulated in Blair's head, and she wondered if she dared. It probably wouldn't even work. But before she could fully reject the idea, she snapped at Dorota, more excited than annoyed, "But I'm going to go talk to Nate. He has some explaining to do."

Dorota merely nodded, and Blair wondered if she imagined the disappointment in her eyes. But she ignored it.

Blair got dressed in a hurry, bounded down the stairs, flung open the door, climbed into the waiting car. The chilly April air whipped her hair into her face as she slid onto the leather seats, but she only laughed, letting loose the remnants of a husky chuckle that sounded fake even to her own ears. She was nervous.

She didn't know how to get Nate back, not after what had happened.

But then she stood in front of his door, tucking her hair behind her ears, playing with the hem of her purple Philip Lim sundress, adjusting the wide straps of the Kate Spade bag hanging awkwardly on her shoulder. She wished she had been able to throw up that morning. Instead, she had been paralyzed by disbelief. And now, she wasn't sure if she should ring the doorbell. What was happening to her? She had never hesitated on Nate's doorstep before. She had always just waltzed in unannounced, giving a quick kiss to Anne Archibald's makeup-free cheek, throwing a disdainful look at Mr. Archibald, who she refused to even consider a person, much less Nate's father. She had never wondered whether to ring the doorbell.

And that made Blair wonder what she was really doing there.

But just as she was about to turn around, just before she made up her mind to leave Nate once and for all and go apologize to Chuck, Nate Archibald himself, in all his resplendent glory, opened the door and looked at her in shock.

Blair gazed at him for a long moment, her glance sweeping over the hunter green sweater clinging to his sculpted chest, the messy spikes of hair falling over his forehead, the smoldering fire in his bright blue eyes. He was the same. How could that be? Blair had thought that what he had done would change him somehow. But no.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled a little, forgetting why she had even come. Of course, Nate's hand wrapped around her arm, and the heat seeping through the thin layers of fabric between them made her wince. It was just too much.

Nate didn't say anything. He only watched her carefully, his expression wary. He was waiting for something – perhaps for her to faint, as she had the day before?

Only one word slipped from his mouth. "Inside?"

Blair nodded and let him lead her into the dimly lighted hallway of his penthouse, her eyes falling on the wood floor, on the paintings decorating the walls, on anything but the hand tightening its grip on her arm. She wasn't unsteady. Not anymore. Nate's touch only halted her movement and delved deeper into the hole that had manifested itself in her heart.

Nate's parents weren't home, thankfully, and Nate led Blair up the stairs wordlessly. They reached the threshold of his bedroom, and Blair hesitated a little, her resolve wavering.

But Nate whispered, "We need to talk."

Blair nodded, almost absentmindedly, and murmured, "Yes. We do."

His hand still holding her up, she cocked her head and gazed into his eyes for a long moment. Her lips slightly parted, she trembled as one golden finger trailed across her cheek. She didn't want to be close to Nate. Not like this. Not after everything that had happened with Serena, and then with Chuck.

No.

Blair didn't realize she was saying it aloud until Nate looked at her questioningly, pulling her body close to his, and whispered, "What's wrong, Blair?"

Blair. The name sounded so foreign to her ears. Why didn't he call her Waldorf?

She thrashed in the constricting hold of his arms and whimpered, "This is wrong."

Nate was bewildered. "What do you mean? This is you and me. Nate and Blair. How could this be wrong?"

Blair stared at him with unconcealed disgust. "Because," she said slowly, levelly, haughtily, "You slept with my best friend."

Nate said nothing, as if Blair's blunt acknowledgement of his betrayal had shocked him. The silence between them was palpable. The moments stretched on as he only looked at her, his blue eyes penetrating hers with a strength that unnerved her. This was so unlike him, she marveled. Nate had always been her knight in shining armor, the guy who had stood by her, the one who had been a respectable, handsome man. He was supposed to be cool, controlled, gentile. Not wild. Not passionate.

Blair knew the sudden change could only be attributed to Serena. And _that_ made her whisper, "How could you?"

It was a broken, helpless, futile cry for help. But she knew Nate wouldn't see it as such. He couldn't wrench himself away from the mirror long enough to look at her, to notice the tears welling in her eyes and the way she nervously ran a hand through her hair every other second. He just didn't see her. He never had.

Nate's eyes left Blair's for a moment, and she waited for him to say something.

"I don't know." He only whispered, shaking his head slowly. Blair wanted to glare at him, wanted to tell him that just wasn't good enough. But he knew her too well. Before she could open her mouth, he continued, "At the wedding, you were off somewhere, I didn't know where…I couldn't find you." Blair averted her eyes, remembering that particular wedding and how she had been in the bathroom most of the afternoon, sick to her stomach after seeing her best friend and her boyfriend laughing and talking. She had known even then…

Nate looked at her, waiting for her reaction. But Blair only nodded minutely and gestured for him to continue.

"And then you appeared a while later, and you said you were going home. You left with Chuck – " Bitterness suddenly laced his voice, and Blair's eyes flew up to meet his. She wondered suddenly if he knew about her and Chuck's regular midnight trysts and the fact that she called him whenever she had an "episode." But the pain in Nate's normally emotionless eyes was not accusatory, Blair knew. It was only regret, regret that he had let Blair leave the wedding in the first place.

"And once you were gone," Nate swallowed and turned his head away, "Serena came up to me. She was obviously drunk. Of course."

Blair laughed a little, because it was common knowledge that Serena was never sober at parties. Even her own. But Blair had never suspected that her drunkenness at the Shepherd wedding was any cause for alarm. She had assumed that Nate would take care of Serena and that he would safely tuck her into bed in her own apartment.

But that wasn't what had happened, was it?

Blair gazed into Nate's eyes and whispered, "Continue. Please."

Nate nodded, squeezing his eyes shut, and murmured, "I told her I needed to get her home, but she just laughed and laughed and wouldn't let go of my hand…and I didn't want to leave her alone. I was worried about what might happen to her."

He stopped for a moment, catching his breath, running a hand through his hair. It was an anxious gesture, and it wasn't lost on Blair. She knew he had more to say. She knew the worst part of his story was yet to come, and she shook her head in acceptance. She would now have to listen to a description of how a drunken Serena had seduced a sober Nate. But she would withstand the pain. Because she was strong.

Nate spoke softly, in a voice that was rife with shame and was almost too low for Blair to hear, "And then she told me it had always been me, and that she wanted me. I tried to resist. I did, Blair. All I could think of was you and me." His eyes were still closed, his back still straight and stiff. But Blair heard the slight note of wistfulness in his voice. She knew the recounting of the story was not entirely unpleasant for him. Yes, he was obviously embarrassed and ashamed. But he didn't sound so regretful. Blair realized he _wanted_ to talk about it.

And suddenly, she didn't want to hear him talk about it. Not anymore. She had been able to handle it when he had at least sounded like he wanted to apologize for his betrayal. But now, now that he clearly intended to reminisce about his infidelity…now she couldn't bear to listen. The bile rose in her throat, and she clutched her stomach, hoping she wouldn't feel the urge to run into the bathroom now. The tension between her and Nate was bad enough already.

Her hand flew up to meet Nate's mouth, and her fingers curled around his lips as she whispered, "That's enough, Nate. What happened in the morning?"

She stepped away from him quickly and waited for his answer. He was clearly astonished by her uncharacteristically brusque behavior, but he only nodded and sighed, "Well, we had gone back to my place, and when I woke up, she was gone. She left a note saying that she was sorry, but that her friendship with you was too important. And you know what happened next."

Blair nodded. She remembered the chilly air of the next morning, the morning she had realized that Serena was gone. She remembered the disbelieving looks everyone had thrown at her as she had walked up the steps to school, as if they knew something she didn't. She remembered the very moment her cell phone had vibrated, the feel of the keys under her fingers as she read the text from Gossip Girl that announced what she had already known on some level. And Blair remembered her rush for release and how she had spent the day in the bathroom, the day she had alternately thrown up and wrapped herself in the warmth of Chuck Bass' arms.

Chuck. The Chuck that was gone now, and probably forever.

Blair closed her eyes in agony and whispered, "Yes. I remember."

She let herself get lost in memories for a long moment, memories of moments spent with Serena, memories from a time when her friendship with Serena had been her saving grace. But then, interrupting her thoughts, clouding her vision, Nate's voice sent her spiraling into grief. "I want you back, Blair."

Blair shook her head sharply and corrected, "You never had me."

Nate laughed gently and relented, "I guess you're right. What I mean is that I want us to go back to the way we used to be."

Blair was disgusted. Did he really expect her to be able to return to their former relationship, to the way they had been before, when they were blissfully in love?

She countered, "How can we, Nate? After what you did?" She couldn't believe what was happening. She had wanted Nate back. She had told Chuck so. But now that it appeared that she would have him back, she realized it was a lot more complicated than she had thought.

Nate laced his fingers through Blair's and lifted her chin with his finger, his voice earnest and pleading. "It was a mistake, Blair, and I can't tell you how sorry I am."

"It was a mistake that you slept with my best friend? No, I think it's a bit more than that."

This wasn't how this was supposed to happen, thought Blair. Nate was supposed to be on his knees right now, begging for forgiveness. He was supposed to offer to renounce his friendship with Serena, to treat Blair like a queen, to apologize publicly for violating the promises of trust between them. He was supposed to grovel for as long as it took Blair to forgive him. He was supposed to _care_.

But that was just it, Blair realized. He didn't care that he had hurt her, just as he wasn't sorry.

And yes, Blair had intended to become Nate's girlfriend again. Not because she was still in love with him, or because he took care of her and made her feel special and beautiful. She had wanted to be with him again because she couldn't stand losing that. He was the most perfect part of her life, and the source of everyone's admiration of her. She hadn't been able to think of leaving him.

But now that she saw that he truly and honestly didn't care, she didn't want anything to do with him.

"You should have thought of that before you slept with my _best friend_."

Blair's voice was cold, stern, harsh. And Nate, who obviously wasn't used to this side of Blair – because even when she was being cruel and conniving, she spoke with a tone of such sugary sweetness that one wondered if she was even serious – could only mumble, "I didn't know what was happening."

"You're dense enough that I believe you." Blair said ruefully. "But know this, Nathaniel. You are no longer my boyfriend. We are over."

She stood, waiting, watching. The pain and disbelief that flitted through Nate's pale blue eyes did nothing to weaken her resolve. She was hurting, too. Couldn't he see that?

Nate shook his head, and Blair wondered if she had ever really loved him. Had she just loved who she thought he was? She didn't know, and was confused even as his lips formed the words that tore them apart so completely she was barely aware of the emotion in his voice. "I said I was sorry."

"Well, Archibald, I suppose that's just not enough." Blair sneered, turning on her heel and storming out of his room. She didn't stop to look at him, didn't give him a chance to apologize yet again in a futile attempt to salvage the broken pieces of a relationship that had barely been functional in the first place. She just left.

Blair was surprised there weren't tears streaming down her face as she dialed Dorota's number on her cell phone ferociously and hissed, "Dorota. I'm ready." But she understood why. She had already been preparing for this moment, the moment she let go of Nate forever. She wasn't sorry they had been together for so long. He had taught her so much about relationships, because he had never treated her right. He had done everything a boyfriend shouldn't have. And because of him, she knew what a boyfriend _should _do. So no, Blair didn't regret their relationship.

Especially because now, she belonged to someone else. Chuck.

The thought sent waves of warmth shuddering through her, and she sighed in relief. She would go to him now, would apologize for thinking she should go back to Nate. She would kiss him, because now that she knew what it felt like to have his lips moving against hers, she didn't want to kiss anyone else. And she would let him hold her. She would let him protect her. Because she needed him. And she was finally ready to admit it.

Blair didn't allow herself to remember the way she and Chuck had left things. She didn't think about the fact that he might not want to see her. All she knew was that she wanted to be with him. Now, and forever.

She flipped open her phone and sent Chuck a text that he – and she, to some extent – would remember for the rest of his wretched life.

_Meet me in my bedroom. There's something I need to tell you._

And with that, she climbed into the waiting car and waited anxiously as the wheels sped to her apartment. Once she arrived, she flew up the stairs and flung open her bedroom door, knowing that if Chuck had any sense at all, he'd be there already, having heard the liberating – at least, to her – news from Nate himself.

Blair's expression twisted into disappointment and anger when she realized the person sitting on her bed was not Chuck. It was Serena, the skanky blonde who had slept with her best friend's boyfriend.

Blair shrugged off her coat and hung it on a peg on the door, sniffing disdainfully, "What are you doing here?"

She heard Serena rise from her perch on Blair's bed and walk over to the brunette, tossing her golden locks. She heard Serena sigh heavily and fiddle with the straps of the La Perla bra she was wearing, a bra that was, Blair noted bitterly, most definitely a C-cup. And she heard the tears in Serena's voice when the statuesque blond whispered, "B, I'm so sorry."

Blair flinched. Serena cried often, and Blair always had to comfort her as she sobbed nonsensically on her best friend's shoulder. She would come to her the morning after a party and whimper, somewhat pathetically, that she had done it again: she had slept with a guy she didn't even know. She would cry whenever there was something going wrong in her family. She would cry for no reason. Once, she had told Blair that she cried because there was too much she couldn't say, and too much she had to express through tears. Blair had scoffed, because that was just _so_ Serena, to say something like that. Something so naïve and self-indulgent.

But this was different. Serena had never cried over a friendship.

Blair felt herself softening towards Serena, because this was her best friend. Her _best friend_. And even though she had slept with Blair's boyfriend, and even though she had left her when she most needed her, after her father had left her family for another man…even despite all that, Blair knew she still loved and needed Serena. And she had already forgiven her.

Not that she would ever admit that.

Her voice was quiet, devoid of its usual iciness, when she turned around, gazed into Serena's doleful navy blue eyes, and murmured, "So am I, S. But you slept with Nate. I can't forgive you for that."

Serena bit her lip at the sound of her nickname spoken so emotionlessly and replied, "I know. And you don't have to forgive me right now. Or ever. I just need to know that you and I are still friends."

Blair closed her eyes, fighting the urge to just take Serena into her arms and forgive her. It would make all of this so much easier. She and Serena could go back to the way things used to be before Serena left for boarding school, before Nate came between them and a year of distance separated them completely. They could become best friends again, the kind of best friends that shared clothes and secrets.

But Blair couldn't do that. Too much had changed.

She shook her head slowly. "I don't think we can be friends now. Not after this."

Serena let loose a strangled sob, wringing her hands in despair. She looked desperate, broken, and Blair realized she had never seen her best friend so distraught. The thought made her close her eyes against the wave of pain that shocked her.

"I understand." Serena said softly, tears blurring her words. "But someday, I hope you can forgive me. I never meant to hurt you."

Blair covered her hand with her mouth to quell the cry that threatened to rip through her. She didn't want to regret this. She didn't want to feel bad about the end of her and Serena's friendship. But she did. She did, and she couldn't stop herself from affirming, "Someday."

Serena's answering smile healed Blair a little, and she realized that this, at least, would be all right. They wouldn't be friends, not now, because Serena had hurt Blair too much for Blair to let her back into her life right then and there. But Blair didn't want to swear revenge against her former friend. She couldn't do that. It would hurt too much. And enough tears had spilled because of the Nate-Blair-Serena love triangle.

Love. Had Blair ever loved Nate?

She couldn't answer herself.

She still loved Serena, in the way that only sisters can love one another. That was unavoidable, she knew. And she didn't mind. And she didn't worry, because sisters always find their way back to each other.

Serena moved towards Blair, as if to hug her, but Blair cringed, and the blonde faltered.

"Goodbye then, B." She whispered, her eyes misty with tears.

"Goodbye, S."

And then Serena strode out the door, and Blair followed her, unable to contain the impulse. After all these years, she still instinctively walked out of her bedroom, merely because Serena was in front of her and she couldn't bear to let her leave while they were still fighting. She knew Serena would understand.

And the blonde did. She turned to look at Blair, smiling slightly before she stepped into the elevator and left the penthouse.

Blair sighed in relief and collapsed on the sofa, glad that the confrontation had not been quite as painful as she had feared.

Eleanor Waldorf's voice reached her ears, though, and she flinched involuntarily. "Blair Cornelia Waldorf! What's this I hear about Nathaniel cheating on you? With _Serena_?"

Oh crap.


	6. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

**A/N: Hey everyone! I'm sorry this update took so long - I was relaxing during my downtime from exams ;) But here it is, ready for you. This chapter really got on my nerves, and I am god damn _proud_ of it now, so I hope you like it. **

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is a quote from _Hamlet_.**

* * *

Chapter 6

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

* * *

_These violent delights have violent ends  
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder  
Which, as they kiss, consume  
- Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene VI_

Eleanor Waldorf's cold voice echoed through the room, and Blair screwed her eyes shut, hating the shudder of fear that coursed through her. She shouldn't be afraid of her own mother.

Then again, when it came to Blair's relationship with Nate, Eleanor could be terrifying.

The fashion mogul strode over to her daughter, swaying her silk-clothed hips, smoothing her waves of chocolate brown hair. Blair didn't open her eyes as her mother approached her. She merely listened to the melodic, rhythmic sound of Eleanor's navy blue Christian Louboutin pumps hitting the marble floor.

Wondering why she hadn't rushed into the bathroom after Serena left, Blair took a deep breath as Eleanor cleared her throat.

"Blair," Eleanor ordered, taking another step towards her tense, rigid daughter, "We need to talk about this. Is it true?" Her voice was soft, disappointed, and Blair cringed. She didn't have to open her eyes to know that her mother's slightly wrinkled features were distorted into an expression of disgust and that emotion Blair detested most: shame. The thought made her clutch her stomach instinctively.

But she forced herself to move from her perch on the sofa, forced herself to stand up and peer into the eyes that mirrored her own, whispering, "Yes, mother. It's true."

A small gasp of shock escaped Eleanor's mouth, and she moved her hand to muffle the sound. "What happened?"

Blair hung her head, tears slipping from her eyes. She hesitated, tugging on the hem of her sundress in a nervous attempt to straighten it. The air suddenly seemed stifling, the heat of her mother's intent gaze flaming in her cheeks. The outlines of the pleats of the fabric clinging to her body blurred as her eyes unfocused, and she gulped hastily, trying to put on the façade she always did for her mother.

But she couldn't. Not this time.

After a long moment of silence, she drew her chin up and held her head high, murmuring, "It was at the Shepherd wedding. That's all I know."

Of course, she knew more. But Blair did not want her mother to hear the details, not now. The thought of Serena and Nate _together_ still brought tears to her eyes. Perhaps more so now that she and Nate were no longer Blair and Nate and her friendship with Serena was completely uncertain. She couldn't tell her mother about it. Not when it broke her heart to voice either of their names.

Eleanor shook her head, a slow, expressive movement that whispered through the air. Blair faltered, broke.

This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Her mother had enough reasons to hate her, enough reasons to wish Serena had been her daughter instead. And now this? Blair knew Eleanor would never forgive her.

But she stared into her mother's eyes, her gaze unwavering. She had to be strong. She had to.

Eleanor asked her daughter, "Have you talked to Nathaniel?"

Blair didn't want to tell her that, either. She didn't want her mother to know that she had broken up with Nate. "Not yet," she said airily, ignoring the color that crept incessantly into her cheeks, "I thought it best to wait a while."

"And why is that?" Blair's mother retaliated, her voice low, cold, emotionless.

Blair swallowed, with some difficulty, and replied in a small, daintily apologetic tone, "I just thought that we should let the dust settle. We both need time to think about what has happened."

"You foolish girl," Eleanor admonished, "If you wait any longer, Nathaniel will think you have abandoned him."

"Perhaps, mother," countered Blair, clenching her fists in silent despair, "I should be free to make this decision on my own."

Eleanor shook her head amusedly. "No. You would only ruin things."

She sighed heavily and shook her head again, murmuring, "I should have known, I suppose. You are too boring to hold an Archibald's attention." She looked down at her daughter with a hint of disdain lurking in the depths of her eyes, ignoring the pearl of moisture that cascaded down Blair's frightfully pale cheek. "It figures that Serena stole him from you. You should have tried harder, though."

Blair glared at Eleanor defiantly, her eyes blazing with anger. "Mother, I don't think it's fair to judge. You know nothing of the situation."

Blair closed her eyes in a silent plea for forgiveness in the midst of the resulting silence, trembling as Eleanor's fingers closed around her chin. She swayed on her feet, suddenly feeling unsteady, and smiled a little as the darkness behind her eyelids fluttered and dilated. It was so much easier to succumb to the blackness than to look into her mother's brown eyes and see all she had fought to avoid reflected in those depths. Those eyes had never been warm, no, Blair reflected. But at least before this had happened, they were indifferent.

Now, they were disdainful.

"I know enough." Eleanor murmured, "Open your eyes. Look at me!"

Blair forced her eyes open. "I have done nothing wrong, moth - "

"Silence!" Eleanor roared, slapping Blair across the face. "You have disgraced me enough with news of this. I will not have you try to justify your actions! There is nothing you can say that will _ever_ explain how you could possibly let him go."

Blair trembled beneath Eleanor's stony gaze, too shaken to rub her cheek. Her mother had never struck her before. She had never been that angry. And now…now it seemed that everything was lost.

Blair knew, though, that if she ever expected her mother to forgive her, she couldn't let her see how much that one gesture had hurt her. She simply couldn't.

But the pain of it, the agony and regret and shame that shone in her mother's eyes, tore through the thin layer of love – somehow bestowed by Chuck, Blair mused – surrounding her frail body, and she crumbled to the floor, closing her eyes. The darkness was safe again, she realized. It no longer held images of Nate and Serena together; it only held blackness.

"Blair," her mother said curtly, "You will go to Nathaniel, and you will apologize for not being enough for him. And then you will find a way to stay in your relationship."

Blair nodded, whispering, "And if I can't?"

There was only silence, and the whistle of a hand slicing the air as Eleanor moved to stroke her own perfectly coiffed hair. Blair heard the movement, heard the tuck of a stray lock behind her mother's ear. She heard it, and wished Eleanor would stroke _her _hair, just once. She never had before. But now, that moment seemed altogether impossible.

Finally, Eleanor spoke, the words drifting, falling, reaching. "You have disappointed me, as I always knew you would. I have nothing left to say to you."

"Eleanor," Blair whimpered, reaching out to her mother feebly with one hand. She thought the sound of her mother's name would spark some sort of emotion in the woman's heart. She thought that if she could only make Eleanor see that they had become so distant that she could no longer even think of her as her mother…then maybe, apologies would fill the air.

But Blair only heard one thing: the sound of Eleanor's heels as she walked away.

She didn't move for a long moment, her eyes still closed. She didn't dare lift the darkness from her eyelids. The emptiness of the room would have shocked her, she knew. It was simpler, easier to only press her cheek to the floor and let the tears slide down her face.

But the uncomfortable sensation in her stomach made her lift herself off the floor and drag her feet up the stairs. She had to rid herself of the bile gathering in her throat. She had to, because her mother was disappointed in her.

Blair suddenly remembered the text she had sent Chuck, and she flipped open her Sidekick in fervent excitement, hoping that he had replied. He must have received it by now, she reasoned. He might be on his way to the apartment, or even already in her bedroom…

The dagger of pain that pierced her fragile sanity when she saw that her bed was empty surprised her.

She needed release, needed to do what she always did. She trudged towards her bathroom door, desperation seeping into her heart. She had nothing left but this. Her mother hated her. Her boyfriend – ex-boyfriend, she corrected herself with a small, proud smile - didn't care about her. She had pushed her best friend away. And the man she lo- but she hadn't meant to think that. Chuck was gone. Gone. And he wasn't coming back for her. Not this time.

She was dazed, confused, broken. She fingered the soft fabric of the designer dress she was wearing, tucked her stringy hair behind her ears, pinched her cheeks in an effort to flood color into her pale skin. It was time to live, time to survive, as she always had.

The weariness overcame her as she closed the bathroom door behind her. This was just too much for one girl to handle.

She stood in front of the toilet, wondering how long it would be before her body no longer allowed her the release of intake and outtake. The time was coming soon, she knew. She had seen blood spiraling in the recesses of water and torrid, languid vomit after she had found out about what Nate and Serena had done. She hadn't told Chuck, of course.

But Blair knew the end was coming. And she was almost – did she dare say it? – _glad_. It would be such a relief to close her eyes. It would be an escape.

She wanted that. She _needed _that.

And so she leaned over the toilet once again, this time not to save herself, but to leave the woman she knew behind. She was no longer Blair Waldorf. She was just a girl, a lonely, insecure girl who had lost everything she had ever cared about.

Tears fell down her cheeks, but she ignored them, as she always had. They were a nuisance.

But the sound of a voice, deep, urgent, familiar, sent Blair flying, into the arms of the one person she could not live without.

"Blair," Chuck had whispered, his eyes dark and hungry, but not lustful. He was hungry for the touch of smooth skin, for the tingle of affection when her hands pushed his hair back from his brow. He ached to hold her in his arms, to kiss away her tears, to tell her she was beautiful. Because she was. And he needed her to know that.

Blair cried in his arms, her body heaving with each badly suppressed sob. She needed to let go, she realized. And she could only let go with Chuck. Because in his arms, as his lips glided along her hair and he whispered reassurances into her ear…she felt like she was home, or at least finding her way there. With him, that was all she ever felt. That was all there ever _was_. Home. Security. And love.

The moments passed, and he said nothing, because words failed him. And she understood.

He led her to her bed, sat her down, and gazed into her eyes, chocolate brown rimmed with red, still so mesmerizing. He stroked her cheek, his fingers fluttering across her tear-stained skin. Her answering smile was sad, lost. But it was a smile. And it was at least a whisper of who she had once been.

His hand moved to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his palm unthinkingly, her eyes drifting closed as her head naturally fell on his shoulder.

Her tears were slowing now, and he whispered, knowing already – with the assistance of Dorota, of course – what had happened with her mother, and guessing that she would need to escape the memory, "Blair, would you like to lie down?"

Somehow, Blair found the strength to nod.

Chuck gently eased Blair down onto the bed, and she smiled at the gesture. He was being so careful with her, as if he thought she might break if he held her too tightly.

She snuggled into him, and they lay entwined for a long moment, his hand smoothing her hair, her hand stroking his cheek. They looked at each other, their gazes intent and passionate. Where did they go from here?

Blair broke the silence. "How did you know?" She moved a little closer to Chuck, her eyes fluttering when she felt him pull her towards him, wrapping his legs around hers. The warmth of his body seeped into her, and she sighed in relief. She was so close to him in that moment. She could feel his heart beating.

God, she loved him.

"Well, I got your message," he whispered, his lips brushing across her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids, then curving into a smile when she trembled a little, "And so I was going to come anyways. Despite our little, um…'lovers' spat,' if you will."

He laughed ruefully, and she giggled, remembering how she had used the same phrase when talking to Dorota.

"And then…" he trailed off, and Blair worriedly noted the distance in his eyes. What had happened?

But he continued shortly after, "I knew something was wrong."

Blair felt him clench his fist, and she stroked his fingers soothingly, clasping her hand with his, bringing it to her lips. He looked at her questioningly, but she only shook her head. There would be time enough to talk about what had changed between them. Later.

"Are you okay?" The whisper hung in the air. Blair didn't know how to answer him.

"I suspected as much." He murmured darkly, hugging her close to him. She suspected he needed tangible proof that she was alive and well – or, at least as well as she would ever be.

She said nothing, not trusting herself. If she spoke now, she might reveal just how much she needed him. And then, he would surely run from her.

"I heard that you ended it with dear Nathaniel." He said lightly, gazing at her with undisguised adoration. The depth of his emotion was too much for Blair; she closed her eyes and waited for the tears to fall down her hollowed cheeks.

But Chuck only brought his lips to her skin and kissed the drops of moisture pearling on her eyelids. He smiled at her sharp intake of breath and whispered against her skin, "I'm so proud of you."

She smiled and opened her eyes, finally allowing herself to feel the unnamed emotion flitting in the air between them, just for a moment. Any longer and she might actually believe that he cared about her. And it was dangerous to think he cared about her. It was so god damn dangerous.

And she couldn't help it.

She wanted to tell him she had broken up with Nate for him, wanted to tell him she had seen her former boyfriend and realized that he could never compare to the boy in front of her. But the words died on her lips, and she could only whisper, "I couldn't do it anymore. Not after…what he did."

He peered into her eyes inquisitively, waiting for her to say more. But she didn't, and in the midst of the silence, he broke through her instinctive barriers with one simple question, "Did it hurt?"

She wondered briefly if anyone had ever asked her that, about _anything_. But she realized, as she looked at Chuck and saw the man he could be, saw the man he _would_ be, reflected in his amber eyes, that only he ever had. Because he was the only one who had ever cared. And so she answered him honestly, "Yes. More the finality of it, I suppose. Not exactly sadness. I'm glad to have left him."

And then the two lovers were silent, and they merely held each other, her tears falling silently, his hands pulling her closer.

Because they both knew the moment couldn't last. They were Chuck and Blair. They weren't meant to be together. No matter how much they both needed each other.

Chuck whispered at last, "Blair, you can't keep doing this to yourself."

"I didn't do it this time!" she countered hotly, her hands still entwined with his.

"No, but you were about to."

She had no answer.

"Maybe," he began, kissing her forehead in a vain attempt to soothe her, "Maybe you should get some help."

She shook her head vehemently, burying her face in his chest, murmuring, her words muffled by tears, "No. No! I can't. No one can ever know."

Chuck sighed in resignation, stroking her hair absentmindedly. He realized suddenly that Blair was the only girl he had ever laid in bed with like this. It was such unfamiliar territory, this intimacy. Sex had always been his forte. He knew how to do it. He knew what to say and how to say it. But this…this was different. Perhaps a good kind of different, but still different.

Finally, he whispered, "I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself."

And those words, however well meaning they were, sparked a kind of fire in Blair, and she wrenched herself from the hold of his arms, wincing at the sudden distance, and sat up. She glared at him, angry that he had even suggested that she get professional help for her "bulimia" – what an ugly word, she thought idly, for such a beautiful thing. But she couldn't deny that hearing those words leave _Chuck Bass' _mouth had almost undone her. He cared. He really cared.

But this was her problem, and hers alone. She had to be perfect. She couldn't let him take that away from her.

And so she crossed her arms over her chest and countered defensively, grasping at this one chance to make him see that he could not protect her – that no one could – "Nate would leave me alone."

But she instantly regretted it, because the sorrow that crept into Chuck's eyes was almost more than she could bear. She hadn't meant to compare him to her former lover. She had only been trying to make him understand that she needed to survive this on her own. But she realized she should have been more careful. Chuck had always felt jealous of Nate.

And in this fledging _thing_ between them, throughout the nights she had cried in his arms and the times he had consoled her over the phone…he must have wondered if she really cared about him, or was only grieving the loss of her first love.

"I…" she whispered, desperately trying to rectify the situation, to banish the pain in her Chuck's normally vibrant eyes, "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" he growled angrily, and Blair sighed in relief, because he was trying so hard to avoid revealing his vulnerability. And that meant he wouldn't leave her. Not now. Not yet.

"I only meant that I'm not ready to tell anyone." She watched the light flit through his eyes, and her next words left her mouth before she could stop to think about what he might hear in them. "And then everyone would know about us."

His stony silence shocked her, broke her. A flash of pain alighted in her chocolate eyes, but she willed it away.

He spit out through clenched teeth, "And, of course, you can't have anyone knowing that you associate with Chuck Bass."

He said his own name with venom, and she gasped. Did he really hate himself that much?

She reached out to him with one frail hand, but he batted it away, glaring at her as he sat up and faced her. She whimpered, "That's not it at all."

He grimaced, leaning towards her, and smirked when he saw the bead of sweat forming on her forehead. His sudden proximity was intoxicating her, smothering her. All she wanted to do was kiss him, to let him take her away from the grief and the pain and the agonizing regret. She needed him, needed to feel his heartbeat under his skin and his hands in her hair.

But he only whispered, his lips tantazingly close to hers, "Then what is it, Blair? Let's not forget I saved you."

She didn't even flinch at his mocking tone. It's just his walls, she reminded herself, just his defense. He was afraid of getting hurt. And she knew suddenly that she had to fix this somehow. She didn't want to lose him now. He meant too much. And she realized that to save herself, to save him, she would have to reveal the real reason no one could know that he was her lifeline.

"And I'm grateful to you for that," she whispered, her breath falling softly on Chuck's skin, "But this has to stop. No one can know that I rely on you. Because then they would think I cheated on Nate."

Her voice was small, and she averted her eyes, afraid to look at him. "And I can't give him a reason to justify his sleeping with Serena."

He pulled back, as if what she said had surprised him, and glared at her, his eyes cold, unfeeling. "I'm guessing that means you're going to go back to poor Nathaniel?"

She cringed at his assumption and recoiled in fury. She couldn't believe he thought that. And then she slapped him, her hand stinging. She didn't pause to apologize for her rash action. "I can't believe you think that of me! After what he's done to me, do you really think I'd go back to him?"

But then she remembered the feeling of her mother's hand on her cheek, and she was on her knees on the bed, weeping. The cruelty of that moment, the utter disbelief…the rush of memories consumed her every thought. She could not move. She could not believe that she had just slapped Chuck. He was all she had. How could she have hurt him like that? And then she whispered, crying all the while, tears rushing, falling, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Chuck did not know what to say. He didn't understand this sudden change. He could only pull her into her arms and whisper, "Shh, Blair. It'll all be okay."

Cheeks stained with drops of moisture, smile lopsided, she looked up at him and asked, "Do you really think I'll go back to him?"

She saw by his shocked, anguished expression that he did. She screeched, "Chuck, I stood by Nate for all those years because my parents wanted me to, and because most of the time, he paid attention to me and bought me gifts and made me feel special. But I will not – I will _not_! – stay with someone who sleeps with my best friend."

Chuck held her at arms' length and grasped her hands tightly, whispering menacingly, his eyes never leaving her face, "He hurts you, ignores you, and yet…you go back to him anyway. I can't hope it's different this time."

"It is." She murmured, shaking her head, needing to convince herself as much as him. "He broke my heart. And he didn't even care. He never has. If it wasn't for him, if it wasn't for Serena, I never would have started hurting myself in the first place."

He nodded, and she gently brushed her lips across his. "I don't want to go back to him. Not now. Not ever."

But he must have heard the slight note of doubt in her voice, for he whispered, "That's not the truth. And you know it."

"It is!" she screamed, hoping that this moment was not actually happening. He couldn't be saying this. This couldn't be happening.

"I don't love him anymore, if I ever did! I don't _want_ him anymore, Chuck."

She spoke the truth. She knew she did. How could he not see it?

But he only shook his head slightly and extracted himself from the hold of her arms, lifting himself off the bed. He leaned over to her and kissed her forehead, whispering, "He's good for you, Blair."

"He's not," she mumbled incoherently, crawling over to him, wrapping her arms around him. He had to stay right where he was. He had to.

He gently pushed her away and explained, artfully concealing the regret burning in his voice, "I should go, Blair."

She shook her head in disbelief and watched him as he headed toward her door, then turned around again and whispered, "You were right. No one should know about us."

"Well, I've changed my mind!" she yelled, running towards him.

"I'm sorry, Blair. I have to go."

And the words broke her heart. He was leaving. _Leaving_.

"No. Don't leave." She crumbled to the floor, her eyes glazed. She couldn't imagine living without Chuck. He held her when she cried, he put the pieces of her life back together when they scattered, he laughed at her jokes, he told her she was beautiful. He was everything.

And she was only realizing that now.

Chuck walked away from her slowly, pausing at the door, turning to face her. "I'm sorry, Blair. It's for the best."

"How is this for the best?" she wondered aloud, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that had made clear streaks on her skin. There would only be more to come.

"Because, Blair," Chuck whispered, the pain in his hazel eyes shocking, gratifying, humbling, "You're better with Nate."

He strode out the door, but the strangled sound of Blair's feeble whisper stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't leave her, he suddenly realized. Not until he knew she would survive without him.

"Wait."

Blair saw his silhouette as he approached her, saw his broad shadow on the white door he had walked out that morning. He always seemed to be walking out.

"I'm not better with Nate." She tried to say it with conviction, tried to say it firmly, but she was still so weak. "I'm better with you."

The smile that graced Chuck's features nearly took Blair's breath away. It was so sad, so severe. He was just too young for this kind of pain. They were both just too young.

"Don't you see?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"See what?" Chuck was curious, despite himself, Blair knew. And his curiosity fueled a fire in her. She needed him to stay, needed him to hold her. She needed _him_. And it hurt to admit that. It was dangerous to admit, because she had once told Nate she needed him, and he had kissed her with less enthusiasm than he would have if she had told him she wanted to break up.

But this was different. This was pure, unadulterated _need_.

"I need you." Blair whispered.

Chuck hesitated for a moment, then strode over to her, crashing his lips to hers.

But it was over before it started, and he was leaving again.

And in a last feeble attempt to save herself, in the vain hope that maybe Chuck would finally understand just how much she needed him, Blair whispered what had before been only a dream to them.

"I love you."

She saw the answering emotion flit through his eyes before he turned away from her. She saw his lips form the words, saw the air leave his mouth as he returned the sentiment. But no sound came out. She wanted to run to him, wanted to hold him.

But he only whispered, "I know, Blair. I know."

And then he was gone, and Blair's cries could be heard throughout the night.


	7. By Sun and CandleLight

**A/N: Okay, first, I apologize for the lull between updates for this chapter. I was having a really hard week. So I'm sorry about that. **

**If you've noticed, the Chuck in this story is more along the lines of the Chuck we start to see after Tuscany. I thought that if he had been helping Blair get through her bulimia for so long, his evolvement into the more mature Chuck would not take nearly as long as it does in the show. So I apologize if anyone was suspicious of out-of-characterization.**

**Also, thank you all so much for all the wonderful reviews this past chapter! They were much appreciated. **

**Finally, I didn't realize that if you reviewed the last chapter, you can't review this chapter because I deleted the prologue. That makes me really sad :( So now I will proceed to really annoy everyone and add the prologue again so anyone who wants to review this chapter can. I apologize for the extra email you will get saying I added this chapter, but I really see no other way to fix this. I'm sorry :(**

**Sorry for the long author's note. Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from Sonnet XLIII by Elizabeth Barrett Browning.**

* * *

Chapter 7

By Sun and Candle-Light

_She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that's best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and in her eyes  
- "She Walks in Beauty" by Lord George Gordon Byron_

Chuck left Blair's room hesitantly, her soft words ringing in his ears, each and every cadence shuddering through his body. He could not breathe, could not think; his nostrils tingled with the lingering scent of vanilla, tangled in her tumbling curls. He could not escape the sight of her, folded on the floor, wringing her hands, gasping for air. And calling after him in a voice filled with love he did not deserve.

Love. How could she, Blair Waldorf, the very epitome of perfection, love him, Chuck Bass? He was the scum of the earth. He simply could not fathom that she could care about him. It wasn't possible.

And so he ran.

He almost wished she had seen the glance he threw over his shoulder at her as he strode out her door for the second time that day. Maybe then, she would have seen what she looked like to him. Maybe then, she would have understood that he could not mar the beauty of such a delicate flower.

Rough touches could not save her. Only caresses could, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could comfort her.

He would ruin them both, he knew.

But he could not rid himself of the nagging ache in his stomach. She had said she loved him. He didn't want to run away from that truth. Not anymore.

He wanted to turn around, to run back into her bedroom and into her arms. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was beautiful. He wanted to promise her he would never leave her. But it was a promise he could not keep.

And so he ran.

He found himself abandoning the limo parked by her street once he left her house. He didn't want to succumb to the darkness of tinted windows, not yet. He didn't want to see the black leather of the seats and think of the dark lust that consumed him whenever he held _her _in his arms. He just didn't want it, any of it.

He wanted to be free. Free of her. Because it was dangerous to care about her. She was his best friend's ex-girlfriend. And no matter how angry he was at Nathaniel at the moment – for being stupid enough to sleep with anyone other than Blair, of course – he still cared enough about his best friend to worry about what he was doing. He could not fall for Blair. It was against every rule he himself had established.

Then again, when it came to Blair, breaking rules was more than warranted.

He could not rid himself of the memory of her hair splayed across the pillow as she lay in his arms, of her tears moistening his skin as her eyes glazed, of her broken voice, laced with sorrow and pain, detailing every trial she had endured lately.

It had been a sight he could not reconcile with everything else he knew about Blair. She was strong, stubborn, determined. He could not help but realize that he had seen a side of her that she had allowed no one else to see. The thought made him smile.

And he wasn't entirely sure how, but he ended up on Nathaniel's doorstep.

He didn't hesitate. Not as Blair had the day before. Instead, he simply flung open the door and strode through the dark hallway, fully prepared to yell at Nathaniel for abandoning the utter perfection of his long-time girlfriend.

Of course, though, as Chuck soon realized, Nate was much too clueless to even begin to comprehend the enigma that was Blair. Least of all appreciate her.

Chuck understood her, he fumed to himself. Why couldn't he have her, if he was the only one who truly understood the convoluted recesses of her mind?

But he scowled, his mouth twisting into a permanent grimace. He had a single purpose in coming to this lifeless penthouse, a single reason he was even talking to Nathaniel: to convince the taller, more popular, more respectable boy that he should not try to win Blair back. It wouldn't be a clear-cut case, a question of yes or no, that much Chuck knew. Nathaniel would no doubt want her back – in retrospect, who wouldn't, really? – but mostly because he was afraid of disappointing the Captain. He wouldn't really think of winning her back just so he could be with her.

And Chuck knew Nathaniel was easily deterred from such questionable motives as those. This should be easy, he thought to himself.

Still, he panicked.

He found Nathaniel on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his glittering blue eyes hazy with alcohol and – was that regret? Chuck cringed at the thought.

"My dearest brother," the shorter man chuckled, wincing at how easily the name rolled off his tongue – especially since he fully intended to betray said brother in the cruelest way possible the next chance he got. "What escapade are you wasting your time on now?"

A dark laugh slipped through Nate's pursed lips, and he offered lazily, "Nothing much. Wondering what Blair's up to, really. And thinking about Serena…"

His voice trailed off, not suggestively, but wistfully, as if he was remembering the day he had spent with the blonde, before everything fell apart. But, in truth, he suddenly realized, everything had fallen apart long before then. That moment had only been the culmination of days past, of battles lost and lovers reconciled. It hadn't mattered – still didn't matter, really – what he and Serena had done. They had all been going to hell anyway.

But next to him, Chuck clenched his fists in unconcealed disgust. He wondered how his best friend, whom he cared about more than anyone else, could possibly say Blair and Serena's names in the same sentence. They were too different. Serena was all light and laughter and hair, all blondeness and long legs and flashy smiles. And Blair…Blair was quiet, dark. And mesmerizing.

How could Nate think about Serena, even for one moment?

Chuck didn't understand it, because to him, Blair was the only girl – woman, he instinctively corrected himself – who he would ever care about.

"I think I want her back."

But that one sentence wrenched Chuck back to reality, and he remembered painfully that despite how he may have deluded himself, Blair belonged with Nathaniel. He would still try, of course, try to persuade Nathaniel to give her up, try to persuade Blair that she should not be with the golden boy. But Chuck wouldn't win. It was a truth he knew he must resign himself to.

He sighed heavily and replied, "Of course you want her back. The question is, _why_ do you want her back?"

Chuck could almost see Nathaniel falter. This was his weakness. Whenever the Prince of the Upper East Side paused to think about why when it came to Blair, he could never quite come up with an answer. And now Chuck was hoping fervently that that would hold true.

Honestly, Chuck had no idea what he was doing. He didn't really know if he wanted to be with Blair. He knew he could never measure up to Nathaniel. Not in her mind. Not in anyone else's. As long as Nathaniel wanted to be with Blair – and even perhaps when he didn't, thought Chuck ruefully – Blair would want to be with him.

Which was why Chuck had to make sure Nathaniel didn't try to get her back.

The silence stretched on.

Finally, when he could stand it no longer, Chuck ran a hand nervously through his perfectly styled bangs, asking bluntly, "Do you love her?"

Nathaniel answered without hesitation, as he always had. "Of course!" His voice was almost, _almost_ indignant. But not quite. Because the question was completely justified. Chuck – and perhaps, Chuck alone – knew the doubt that often trilled in Nathaniel's heart. Nathaniel loved Blair. They both knew he did. But maybe, it wasn't enough anymore.

Had it ever been?

Nathaniel pulled himself to his feet, looking down on his best friend in almost forced contempt. "This is none of your business, man."

Chuck shook his head vehemently, placing one manicured hand on Nathaniel's broad chest, his voice pleading, urgent, fierce as his lips formed the words that voiced the fears he could not admit to himself. "Nathaniel, I assure you, it is. And, to be fair, there is a strong argument for the case that you are not exactly enamored of the Queen B. Lest we forget, you fucked her best friend not too long ago."

Nathaniel flinched at Chuck's crude language and cowered defensively, stuttering, "Well…it was more than that. Serena isn't just some girl I slept with. She's more."

Affection alighted in Nathaniel's blank eyes, and Chuck took a step back, pausing to reassess the situation. If he cared as little about Blair as it seemed he did, then maybe…

Chuck cautiously asked his dearest friend, averting his caramel-colored eyes in a feeble attempt to avoid inciting spiteful wrath, "What is she, then?"

Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck in dreamy contemplation, whispering reverently, "I don't know. She's…Serena." He shook his head ruefully, as if that ought to be enough explanation. And to a certain extent, it was. Serena was Serena.

And Blair was Blair. Two completely different girls. Yet somehow, they had so much in common. Always rising from the ashes, as if they were meant to survive even when others did not.

Chuck let a small smile curve his lips. He understood. It wasn't easy to articulate feelings. Not for guys. And not when it came to either of the girls that made up the Upper East Side's most formidable friendship.

He ventured, "Then I'm assuming you're not going to try and win your ice princess back?"

Nathaniel chuckled uneasily and murmured in reply, "I don't know. Blair and I have been together so long. I don't want to break up over this."

_Haven't you already?_

Chuck wanted to scream this, wanted to shake Nathaniel and make him see that there was no in between here. Either he wanted to be with Blair or he didn't. The area was more than just black and white; it was so clear-cut that a single misstep completely blurred the lines. Gray was a color none of them could afford.

Chuck clenched his fists, willing himself to remain calm. But he couldn't quite expel the darkness creeping into the once-amber depths of his soulless eyes. Why couldn't Nathaniel see that he couldn't just dangle Blair on a string? What was it that compelled him to torture her until she fell so deeply that she couldn't ever recover? She might be resilient, but Nathaniel had done enough damage already. She was so fragile now. He could not be trusted with her.

And so Chuck resigned himself to this one last mission. He might lose his best friend over this, but Blair was the one thing he would not sacrifice.

He _could_ not sacrifice her.

"You don't want her back." He affirmed coldly, crossing his arms over his chest. He had to do this, for himself, for Blair. Nathaniel did not matter now. If he ever had.

Nathaniel blinked, dazed for a moment. His voice was confused. "I don't?"

Ah, Chuck thought amusedly, laughing quietly to himself. Here was a person he could bend and break for his own satisfaction. Nathaniel was malleable. He could be changed. And he would be changed. For all their sakes.

"No," Chuck repeated slowly, raising his eyes to meet Nathaniel's skeptical gaze, "You don't."

"Why not?" Nathaniel's eyes were still glazed, still lacking comprehension. Chuck was tempted to hit his friend on the side of his head. You know, knock some sense into him. But he couldn't do that. Nathaniel had too few brain cells as it was.

And so Chuck sighed heavily and explained, his words blending as the effects of the scotch he _hadn't_ drank finally sunk in. It was withdrawal, he assumed. Both from Blair and from alcohol. "Dearest Nathaniel, obviously you haven't figured it out yet."

He waited for some sort of understanding to alight in Nathaniel's emotionless eyes, but the golden planes of the prince's face remained blank.

Chuck scowled. "You don't love her!" he finally screamed, his frustration bleeding into his words. He struggled to retain serenity as comprehension slowly flickered on Nathaniel's face, his voice raw and hoarse as he spoke. "If you did, you wouldn't have slept with Serena."

Nathaniel shook his head in clear bemusement, faltering. "I still think I love Blair, though."

Chuck growled and whispered menacingly, "No, you don't. You love Serena. Don't you understand?"

Silence. Only the whisper of the wind through the open window. Too austere, most unwelcome. Broken, beaten.

But weren't they all?

"Reconcile with the lovely Blair if you'd like, Nathaniel," Chuck continued quietly, the words burning his throat on the way out, "But know that I only have your best interests at heart when I say that I don't think that is your best option."

And with those words finally behind him, Chuck strode out the door, not bothering to look back at Nathaniel. He may have looked back at Blair when he left her, but he was done looking back. It was time to look forward.

* * *

Blair closed, opened, closed her eyes. But the darkness remained. Empty, devoid of emotion. And lacking Chuck.

Could it even be possible that he had left her again? She thought that things had changed, that maybe, they could finally admit what they had both known for too many years. She had told him she cared, told him she needed him. But he had only given a whispered confirmation of the truth she had been desperately trying to avoid. The truth of the discrepancy between how they felt about each other and how they were supposed to feel.

She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to control the urge to throw up. She couldn't, physically _couldn't_, run to the bathroom and expunge the contents of her stomach. Not this time. Perhaps never again. Because somehow, it seemed that every time Chuck left her, he took every part of her with him. Even the part that usually begged for release.

She should have been grateful, but she needed to do it. It was all that could save her.

And without him, she could not even do that. He had robbed her of her only chance at survival.

With him, though, she might have a chance.

And so Blair Waldorf knew she needed to find him, needed to win him back. She had never really had him, she knew. He was Chuck Bass. No one could ever really have him. But she could lay some claim to him, couldn't she? He had held her in his arms, had wiped away her tears. Surely, that meant that their fates were now entwined, just as their legs had been only a few minutes ago.

Had it really been only a few minutes ago?

The thought was so foreign, so alien. Too much had passed between them now. Everything else only seemed to fade away. Time, status, wealth…it didn't really matter anymore.

She had to find Chuck. Because they couldn't give up on what they had.

It was too important.

It would be Friday when she next woke, Friday when she next saw him, she mused. She had already missed a day of school. It was so uncharacteristic – and so risky. Now, she knew, everyone would think that the news of Nate and Serena's betrayal had broken her heart. And she couldn't have them think that. She knew she had to go back to school, if only to prove it really didn't bother her. No matter how much it would hurt to see the two of them again, she had to go back.

But a whisper of doubt flew into her thoughts. To see them separately had been painful enough. But together? She didn't know if she could handle it.

Not without Chuck, at least.

She would have to find him before Nate and Serena found her, she realized. She would have to corner him and tell him she wanted to be with him, tell him he treated her far better than Nate ever had, tell him…

But she had drifted into a dreamless sleep, curled up on the wood floor, before she could complete the thought.

She awoke when her alarm rang, the piercing tone blaring in her ears. She sat up wearily, wincing at the light that seeped in through the open window, surprised that Dorota had not come in and moved her to her bed sometime in the middle of the night. That was so unlike her. So very unlike her. So unlike her that perhaps someone else had had a hand in it…but no. That was a ridiculous thought.

And as Blair looked around her room, she realized that there were far too many reminders of Chuck buried deep in the recesses of her clothes and her bed. A checkered scarf hanging on the window. A bright blue ascot perched on her nightstand.

And worst of all: a grey, silk tie that he had worn the very day before. That same tie nestled within the sheets of her comforter.

Blair groaned.

But she couldn't deny that she liked that he had made his mark on her room. It was a meaningful gesture, and one that was not lost on her.

And so she wrenched herself to her feet, crying out from the pain that rippled through her legs as the weight of his departure weighed on her for the first time that morning. And she strode over to her extensive closet, flinging off her purple sundress, the dress she had worn since the day before, raising the fabric to her nose in a futile attempt to catch the elusive, intoxicating scent that trailed Chuck Bass.

Only a faint note of scotch lingered on the neckline, and she breathed it in, her eyes fluttering closed in unthinking pleasure.

But she shook her head vehemently and reached for the outfit she wore when she needed to win. She stepped into a silver Donna Karan skirt and pulled a deep green Dior blouse over her head, smiling a little as the smooth silk slid across her skin. A string of pearls flitted around her neck, and she stepped into pale grey Prada heels with a subtle shimmer. A headband nestled into her carefully arranged curls, a touch of blush on her cheeks, a hint of foundation to conceal the bags beneath her eyes.

She was ready.

She sighed, butterflies engulfing her throat. She wasn't used to feeling this anxious. Not about a guy.

And that was the problem, she suspected. Chuck made her nervous. This thing between them was so unfamiliar. _He _was so unfamiliar. Because she had only ever felt safe and peaceful when she was with Nate. And with Chuck, it was all so very different, so very nerve-wracking. And perhaps that was dangerous.

She simply felt too much with him. Too much, too soon.

But she banished the thought, flicking a stray strand of chestnut hair behind her ear as she rushed down the stairs and out the door, ignoring Dorota's frantic calls. That woman fretted entirely too much.

Blair decided to walk the short distance to school, reveling in the cool spring air. It was exactly the right kind of day for the mission she had in mind. It was fresh, clear. It was reminiscent of everything that had been beautiful about Nate and Blair's relationship before the fires of winter had burned them both in their tracks. But now, at least, there was still beauty lurking somewhere. In the most unexpected of places, to be sure. But still beauty there.

The beauty that was Chuck Bass.

Blair laughed quietly to herself at the thought.

But when she saw Chuck's limo pass her by – she knew instinctively that it was Chuck gazing at her through the tinted window, although of course she couldn't see him – she gulped and considered running back right where she came from.

No. She had come too far. And so she squared her shoulders and marched right into school. It was time to be Queen B.

She nodded authoritatively to Penelope, Iz and Hazel as she approached them, suppressing the urge to scold them for staring at her so pityingly, and sniffed imperiously, "Where's my latte?"

The three girls exchanged incredulous looks, as if they couldn't quite believe that Blair didn't look distraught and heartbroken. But then they shrugged nonchalantly, because they of all people knew how stoic and unfeeling Blair could be when she really wanted to be. It was a weapon she often used, that cool exterior.

And here she was again, on a rampage.

Hazel perked up, murmuring brightly, "It's right here, Blair."

Blair nodded, wrenching the coffee from Hazel's outstretched hands, and strode off, ignoring the girls' shocked gasps as she left them in the dust.

Blair brushed past Nate, her eyes never rising to meet his. She knew he was astonished, but she ignored it. She felt a momentary spark of heat flash between them, but it was too foreign, long forgotten. Who they had been, back then, before he slept with Serena and she fell in love with Chuck…those people were gone. Her fairytale prince was no longer perfect. And somehow, she was okay with that.

Serena, though, was a different story.

As Blair headed for a secluded corner of the courtyard, the place she knew she was most likely to find Chuck, she caught Serena's eye across the crowded space. And for reasons she'd dissect even years later, she smiled.

No doubt the entire school would know about it by second period, but Blair simply couldn't resist. She was her best friend. She couldn't just ignore her.

But even that ceased to matter when she saw him.

He was standing by the brick wall, lounging lazily, a hat resting precariously on his mussed hair. His trademark scarf – or a copy of it, Blair mused laughingly, since the original was somewhere in her room at the moment – was curled around his neck, and disgust flashed in his eyes.

And without a second thought, Blair walked towards him.

Because suddenly, it didn't matter that he thought that he could never compete with Nate. It didn't matter that she could never be worthy of his…not love, but companionship, even. None of it mattered anymore.

All she saw was him.


	8. Violets Blooming at Her Feet

**A/N: I apologize for the lull in updating, I do, but the amount of reviews I received for the last chapter was really uninspiring and I was just feeling...blah. But this is a realllllly long chapter - at least by my standards - so hopefully that will tide you all over :)**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**And I hate to be a drama queen, but this chapter received more than 1,000 hits yesterday, and I only got six reviews. What gives?!?!?! I know I'm being whiny, but I'm quickly losing faith in this story. Please review to let me know that you're still reading :(**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Edward Payson Rod. It makes no sense now, but I assure you, it will :)**

* * *

Chapter 8

Violets Blooming At Her Feet

* * *

_Broken glass as the evening fades  
Take another drink as it fades away  
I trust in you  
Stealing rays from the sun so bright  
Join a million people in the church tonight  
I trust in you  
__- You Run by Submersed_

But the darkness threatened to consume Blair yet again, because the normally vibrant depths of Chuck's amber eyes were utterly lifeless.

What had she done?

She faltered as his gaze penetrated hers, his eyes dark, his smirk barely reaching the corners of his mouth. The words died on her tongue, but she forced them out, gave them escape. "Chuck," she whispered, closing the distance between them with one outstretched, trembling hand. She tried not to flinch when his eyes fell on her fingers and a hiss whistled through his teeth.

"Chuck," she tried again, lifting her chin, her eyes boring into his.

"Yes, Waldorf?"

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. The name had slipped off his tongue so easily, so familiarly. And his voice had held no trace of bitterness, only a sweet yearning and discreet wistfulness. She allowed herself a brief smile, but cringed when the tawny liquid of Chuck's eyes hardened.

"Don't be like this," she beseeched him, pleading, "Don't shut me out."

"Why shouldn't I?" he inquired, a note of pain creeping into the cruel layers of his voice. He averted his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the pale grey heels caressing her petite feet.

But Blair took a step towards him, and as he trembled, she gently lifted his chin with one finger, whispering, "Because we both know you don't want to."

He jerked away from her, sneering, "Contrary to what you may believe, Waldorf, you have no idea what I want."

She reeled back instinctively, as if he had struck her, and her hand flew to her mouth. Struggling to recover, she swallowed the pain and the shock and resisted the urge to move away from him. She couldn't run now. She had suffered too much to let him go.

She was surprised that she still ached for him, cruel as he had been to her. He had left her twice, had left her weeping for a lost love, a lost life. And yet she had still come back to him. Because as she stood next to him, as her eyes bore into his, she couldn't see everything that had gone wrong between them. She couldn't remember why she had ever thought that he wasn't enough for her. She couldn't understand why she had always thought Nate the more attractive of the two.

All she could see was the vulnerability in Chuck's eyes. And, she realized, that was enough for her. More than enough.

And so she shielded herself from his hurtful words with a haughty lift of her chin and smiled devilishly, taunting him, "Oh, Bass, I think you're very much mistaken. As you and I both well know."

He shook his head, but there was wonder sparkling in his eyes, and she stepped a little closer to him, whispering, "I don't love Nate."

"Blair –" Chuck protested, almost feebly, as if he barely had the strength to listen to her voice. But she simply pressed a slender finger to the expanse of his pale lips and closed her eyes, willing him to breathe with her for a moment. She made no noise, said nothing, but the sight of her lavender eyelids, etched with sleepless nights spent on bathroom floors, jolted Chuck out of his self-induced stupor. And he realized that he could not leave her. Because she was everything, everything and anything. He felt so much for her, so many conflicting emotions. Sometimes, he wondered whether the passion she inspired in him was affection, or compassion, or even, perhaps, hate. He didn't want to care about her.

But he did.

Blair could almost feel Chuck's hesitation as he sighed in resignation, and she smiled to herself, because she knew, even as she succumbed to the darkness, that he had closed his eyes as well. And because she knew there was much he wanted to say, she let out a coy mumble, a sound that soothed the couple's frayed nerves.

"Shh."

And so they stood in silence for a long moment, relishing this haven of peace. They had both endured far too much over the last few weeks, far too much to bear, to cope with. They needed each other to survive.

They didn't hear the clamor of voices around them, didn't see the blossoms clinging to the ravaged walls. They only saw each other. For behind their eyelids, secluded in the silence, eyes flashed and promises broke. And for a moment, they truly believed that who they were and who they had been would cease to be important. There were only them. Only each other. Only who they would become.

Chuck and Blair. Too long apart, too soon faltered. But no longer, they both subconsciously vowed. The time for strife had passed.

But somewhere in the recesses of her lazed mind, Blair realized that if she wanted to capture Chuck forever, if she wanted to allow his warmth to seep into her and his dark caresses tantalize her body…she would have to speak at some point. Silence was easy, simple. But it held no answers, no reconciliations.

She lifted her finger off his lips after a few moments, mindful of the intrigued gazes of her curious classmates. Her hands shook as she brushed cool air, and she gasped at the sudden distance between them.

Chuck's mouth twisted into a pleased smirk as his eyes fluttered open, and Blair breathed a sigh of relief.

"We need to talk," she whispered, finally mustering the courage to go after what she wanted.

But as she stared at him, as her words flew in the air between them, the light blinked in his eyes, and he slowly shook his head. It was a slow movement that whispered through the spring, and Blair choked back tears. Gestures like that only left devastation in their wake. Especially when Chuck Bass performed those rites.

But she shook her head in return, straightening her headband and murmuring sharply, "I say we need to talk. And so, Bass, you will be a dear and talk to me for a moment. Your whores can wait at least that long, can't they?"

She smiled slightly, but faltered when he flinched. She hadn't meant to criticize him; she was accustomed to toying with his emotions, and it hadn't occurred to her that the recent turn of events would prompt a change in their interactions. It was unnerving, really. Perhaps her rash declaration of her feelings – feelings that she wasn't sure she had meant to reveal, not even to herself – had ruined the playful, easy atmosphere between them.

She shuddered at the thought and backpedaled lightly, "I meant, let's conspire, shall we? It's what we do best."

She was glad when Chuck simply nodded, averting his eyes. She wasn't sure what he was trying to hide, but she didn't want to delve into the possibilities. There was too much going on as it was.

She cleared her throat as he waited, searching for the words that she had summoned so easily only a few hours ago. But now, as her eyes traced the curve of his lips and the shape of his brow, the words died on her tongue, and she could only shrug helplessly. He had too much power over her, too much sway. He even controlled her voice.

But he nodded, subtly, slowly, deliberately. And somehow, she found the strength to pull him back to her.

"I don't want to be with Nate." Her voice was quiet, but certain, and she spoke the words with all the authority and grace of a Waldorf. He smiled slightly and wondered idly if he would ever be more proud of her. She met his gaze steadily, the chilly morning air curling on her lips, and continued, "I did, once."

It was painful to admit that; after all, he had betrayed her, and although she had rejected him, it was a still a wound that she did not wish to revisit. But if only for Chuck's sake, she had to.

"But not anymore." It was a frail whisper, too much a reminder of what she had always done to herself. "He slept with Serena. I can't forgive him for that."

Chuck began to shake his head, because he didn't want to be her second choice. He didn't want to be with her if she was only coming to him because Nathaniel slept with her best friend. It wasn't fair to him. And try as he might to convince himself that it wasn't a factor in his disapproval, he couldn't help but think that it wasn't fair to her, either. She deserved to be with who she wanted to be with, whether it be the despicable Nathaniel or himself – someone he viewed as just as despicable.

But Blair inclined her head slightly and continued, "But that's not why I don't want to be with him."

Chuck eyed her warily, wondering what she could possibly mean. Nathaniel was a wonderful boyfriend in all respects – at least the respects Blair considered. He was a little dense, yes, and perhaps more than a bit forgetful. But he _was _a perfect gentleman, Chuck conceded grudgingly.

Blair forged on ahead, fighting the urge to run away from Chuck. She didn't want to leave him. She wanted to hold him. "It's not enough anymore. I thought it was. But it's not. Not after…"

But she didn't need to say it. She might have been referring to the clandestine kiss she and Chuck had shared, a kiss that neither one of them had been willing to mention after the fact. She might have been referring to the night he stayed with her, the night they both whispered promises of love that floated away through the window. She may even have been referring to her own declaration the very next morning.

But it didn't really matter, did it? She was choosing him now, choosing him over Nate. Maybe the reasons weren't important, or maybe they were. But he knew that the moment she flung herself into her arms – and he was sure she would – he would not let her go.

It was a stark sense of clarity, really. The gray area no longer existed. It was only Chuck and Blair. Black and white. Beautiful in its very simplicity.

But the fact remained that he was Chuck Bass and she was Blair Waldorf, and too much remained unresolved for them to drive off into the sunset, hair blowing in the wind. That was the kind of fairytale ending that only existed in movies. And maybe he was okay with that. Because it made things a hell of a lot more interesting.

But she was there with him now, and that was really all that mattered.

"I can prove it to you," she said defiantly after a long moment of silence, trembling beneath the heat of his gaze. She didn't think it reasonable to hope that he would forgive her and return every amorous feeling she had ever had for him. It would have been completely uncharacteristic if he had suddenly declared his love for her in the middle of the courtyard, with dozens of Constance and St. Jude's students watching. She knew him too well for that, knew his complications, knew his problems and history. And she loved him for the very same flaws that exiled him from Upper East Side society.

But knowing him so well almost meant that she had to acknowledge that he wouldn't give in without a fight. And boy, was she right.

He smiled at her wickedly, closing the distance between them again, whispering, his warm breath fanning over her face, "Prove what?"

She gulped at his sudden playfulness and closed her eyes, hissing through her teeth, "Chuck, _really_? We're in public!"

"Precisely!" he exclaimed gleefully, inciting a sharp gasp of shock from the pristine Blair Waldorf. She was still trying to adjust to his lewd references and shockingly leering glances, even having known him for almost all her life.

"Fine," she conceded, stepping away from him as she flicked imaginary specks of dust off the sleeves of her green blouse, "But rest assured, this is not over." She thought for a moment, wondering how to end this conversation exactly as she had originally planned, before smirking in self-satisfaction and whispering, "And I expect you to be waiting for me in your limo after school."

Genuine puzzlement flashed through Chuck's tawny eyes, because he knew Blair sure as hell didn't mean that she wanted to engage in some after-hours sex. But what else could she mean?

Blair laughed, a sound that tore the breath from his throat, and shook her head in amusement, cajoling him gently, "Because, dearest Bass, we have someone to chastise."

At the sight of his dumbfounded expression, she sighed exasperatedly and muttered under her breath, "Why do I have to get involved with such stupid boys…"

He made no remark, which was astonishingly unlike him, and she faltered, wondering if her plan was as brilliant as she had suspected. But then she saw the admiration in his eyes, and she smiled, finally explaining, "We'll be off on a visit to the Archibalds'. There's something I must clear up before this…'thing' can continue."

He nodded in dim comprehension, whispering, "And what will you say?"

Blair let out another laugh, a merry, delighted sound, and leaned towards him, a gleam in her eyes. He wondered what had prompted this sudden change in demeanor, but all sensible thought escaped him when she brushed her lips across his cheek and murmured against her skin, "I'll tell him."

He did not have to ask what she meant, for he found that he already knew. And as the day wore on, as the smell of her curls lingered under his nostrils and he could almost see the darkness fluttering in her eyes as she skimmed his cheek with her lips, he could not banish the heat simmering in the skin beneath his eyes. She had marked him.

And, as we all know, Blair Waldorf's marks are permanent. At least for Chuck Bass.

* * * * *

He was waiting for her after school, just as she had asked him to be. She was surprised at the fluttering in her throat when she saw him leaning against the tinted windows of his limo, sunglasses dangling on his nose, trench coat clinging to his very sculptured body. Not that she was looking, of course.

She tore her eyes away from Chuck and concentrated instead on suppressing the unwelcome swelling in her heart. The fluttering was quite disconcerting. Were those…butterflies?

She supposed they were. Unfortunately.

A smile flashed across Chuck's face when she approached him, and he held open the limo door for her, whispering, "For you, Miss Waldorf."

Blair laughed quietly in return and slipped past him, her carefully arranged locks brushing his shoulder as she took her seat. He followed her, closing the distance between them as he settled himself on the plush leather seat, and turned to face her, something akin to desire dancing in his eyes. She made a point of looking away, but the heat of his gaze flooded her cheeks, and she flicked her eyes to his, hissing, "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing, Waldorf," Chuck drawled, sliding across the seat, away from her, barking at his driver, "To Nathaniel's."

And so they drove, and drove, and drove. They were quiet, perhaps as quiet as they had ever been – or ever would be. It felt like the beginning of an era, almost, an era in which they would fight enemies side by side, an era in which they would be united by their similar demises. But would it last?

Blair didn't know. She wondered if such a love – was it love? – as theirs could ever survive in the jungle of Manhattan. But she disregarded the thought. She was here with Chuck now, and the worries of other times suddenly seemed unimportant.

She stared out the window, absorbing the blossoming flowers and gray steel buildings, and ordered loftily, "Two things, Chuck."

He smiled to himself as she leaned closer to the limo door, the slender set of her shoulders relaxed and inviting, her chestnut curls tumbling over her pale neck. She looked so beautiful, so fragile – like a flower that had yet to bloom. But, he suspected, she was only now beginning to realize her beauty. It seemed fitting, somehow, that her self-actualization began now, in spring, when flowers themselves were reaching towards the heavens.

He only wished he could be her sun.

He mentally slapped himself – what a cheesy, corny, cliché thing to think! He could never mean such a thing.

And yet…he couldn't help but wonder if he had meant those words, the words he had whispered into the darkness only two nights before. It had been a forgotten moment, a slip of passion. Or so he had tried to convince himself. But perhaps it wasn't, he realized. Perhaps he had really meant them. Perhaps he really loved Blair Waldorf.

But he pushed the thought away, because it was dangerous to actually care about the precious bud before him, and because her lips looked so delicate and pink that he wanted to lean in and…

He sighed, waiting for her to speak.

But she only whispered, her voice small, too small, as if she had just realized something that had the power to banish all the strength she had fought for over the years, "One: no sexual _comments. _I really don't need that right now."

It was true, really. The last thing she wanted to think about was sex. She was still a virgin, after all. And Nate was not.

But for the first time, that thought did not stab her, did not send ice through her veins. For the first time, her thoughts flew to him, and she did not cry out in pain. There was no pain, really. Just a numbness. Welcoming, serene. It was acceptance, she thought. And she didn't feel guilty about the feeling of independence. From him, from that constricting relationship, from her mother…from Serena?

She didn't know.

She forced herself to continue, "And two: Nate must know not that you are there. You must hide somewhere." He stared at her incredulously, but she shook her head, explaining ruefully, "Fantastical, I know, but if I must prove to you that I don't care for Nate, then I demand that he know that you are watching."

The words slipped from her mouth quickly, and when the last syllable floated off her tongue, she brought her hand to her mouth and stifled a strangled sob, tears trembling on her eyelids. She wiped them away, because she didn't know why there was moisture in her eyes. She was over Nate. It was a certainty, a promise. A promise she could not break.

She turned her head, gazing into Chuck's amber eyes, and he laced his fingers through hers, reminding her sincerely, "You don't have to do this, you know."

She averted her eyes, her glance flicking to their entwined hands, and replied, "I do, actually." He began to protest, but she held up a finger and murmured, "For you, mostly, of course. But I want everyone to know. Gossip Girl _must_ find out."

He wondered what the hell she was talking about. Why would she want this to be public? The Blair Waldorf he knew was an extremely private person, one who never spoke of her and Nathaniel's relationship, even with prompting. But then again, the Blair Waldorf he had once known didn't exist anymore. In her place was a magnificent woman, a flower in full bloom.

Her solemn whisper startled him out of her reverie.

"Everyone already knows, obviously. But we have to make this final. You'll have to get a picture of it." His jaw dropped. "Only then will I be free."

But Chuck nodded, because he knew. He _knew_.

They arrived at Nate's penthouse a few moments later, and she wordlessly gestured for him to stay in the car and then find a way to get in. He nodded, and she stepped out of the limo, waving halfheartedly. He turned around, unwilling to watch the woman he cared about – he couldn't say love just yet – walk into her ex-boyfriend's apartment. But he felt her cool hands on his neck, and she twisted his face around, gazing into his eyes with quiet, sincere content.

"Don't forget what I said earlier," she whispered lightly, leaning towards him and brushing her lips across his cheek once again, "It's you. Of course it's you. It always will be."

She pulled back and brought her lips to his for the shortest of moments before walking towards that penthouse, bag slung on shoulder, fire burning in her eyes, each strand of hair perfectly in place. She had never felt more powerful, more in control.

And although the walls she had built so carefully were now crumbling before her very eyes, she did not want to throw up.

It was a strangely liberating thought, and she burst into Nate's apartment without knocking, reckless abandon clouding her eyes. She didn't want to be prim, didn't want to fold her hands neatly in her lap. She didn't want to go to society dinners and wear the Vanderbilt ring and one day become an Archibald. She had wanted those things for so long, but not anymore. Because she was no longer Blair Waldorf.

She was Blair, and Blair did not want Nate Archibald. She wanted Chuck Bass.

And so she bounced up the stairs joyously, yanking open Nate's bedroom door, crossing her arms instinctively, searching the room for the boy she had once loved. And she found him sprawled on his bed, as always, staring up at the ceiling in a daze that she couldn't help but think was pot-induced.

She strode over to him with all the haughtiness she could muster and muttered in disgust, "I suppose I should have known that you would resort to this."

"Blair?" Nate sat up, knocking over a lamp in the process, and rubbed his eyes wearily, tension rippling through his taut shoulders, "What are you doing here?"

She didn't sit down, didn't curl up next to him and tell him she was sorry she had yelled at him, didn't start to forgive him for all the times he had hurt her. She once would have, she suspected. Before Chuck.

But this was the after-Chuck Blair, and so instead of resorting to her old ways, she shook her head vehemently and drawled, in a manner that Chuck himself, she noted happily, would admire, "Well, I came to tell you that you and I are not in fact getting back together. And that any notions that you have developed to the contrary are simply a denial of the above truth."

Nate stared at her in unconcealed disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"Precisely what I said," Blair intoned calmly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger idly. It didn't escape her notice that the movement mesmerized Nate, and she smiled to herself. Chuck had taught her well.

Still dazed and confused, Nate didn't bother standing up. Instead, he simply murmured, "It's over, then."

"Yes," Blair said loftily, inflecting her voice with just the right amount of indifference and boredom. She almost smiled at the distress flickering across Nate's face, but she suppressed the urge. There was too much at stake to risk his imminent confusion.

She let her eyes roam the navy blue walls as Nate struggled to get his bearings, and she searched the room for any signs that Chuck was hidden, laughing to herself when she saw the flash of a checkered scarf behind Nate's open bedroom door. She had no idea how he had gotten there, but then again, he was a man of many means. It didn't really surprise her that he had already managed to sneak into Nate's room undetected.

And so she nodded subtly before emphasizing, "It's over."

She looked at Nate apologetically, because she knew she had to make this moment look believable, and resisted the urge to glance over at Chuck. She waited for a long moment, her eyes fixed on Nate's, smiling uneasily as the discomfort between them grew.

Thankfully, the flash of a camera rescued her from her self-induced stupor, and she clutched Nate's arm pleadingly to detract his attention from the sudden brightness, her eyes wide and guileless. The heat of her gaze unnerved Nate, and he shook his head slowly, wrenching his arm from her soft grip. But he regretted the move almost as soon as he was free of her grasp, because she gasped in surprise and whispered, "Have you learnt nothing, Nate?"

He wondered what she could possibly mean, but closed his eyes involuntarily when he saw Blair nodding to some unseen person – because it most definitely wasn't him she was gesturing to. "What the hell is going on?" he spat out through clenched teeth, his tone smooth and even, despite the rage flaming in his throat.

He couldn't deny, though, that some sort of affection lingered in his eyes. He couldn't let go of her that easily, not after a few years of dating. But he banished the emotion angrily, because he had lost her already. He could not get her back. He wasn't sure if he wanted to, either. His…"infatuation" with Serena had only seemed to intensify once the rumor of their betrayal had circulated through the Upper East Side, and he wondered if what he felt for her was more powerful than what he had felt for so many years with Blair.

He couldn't help but think that it was.

Blair shook her head airily, and he took a hesitant step towards the girl he had loved for so long, whispering, "Blair…"

But two could play at that game. Blair lifted her chin and purposefully looked away from him, because he could not do this. He could not try to profess his love towards her. She simply wouldn't allow it. And she wanted to slap him; her palm tingled in anticipation, and she trembled with barely concealed rage. But she fought that urge, because she was a Waldorf, and Waldorfs do not engage in such unseemly behavior.

And so she only let her gaze fall to meet his. She only shook her head slowly and implored him to let her be with one simple word, "Don't."

Nate had known her long enough to understand what she meant. She didn't want him to go after her. She didn't want him to try and win her back. And so he wouldn't, because he was a gentleman, and he had been raised to respect ladies' wishes.

He nodded, and she smiled gratefully, lightly grazing his cheek with her lips before whispering in his ear, "Goodbye, Nate."

And then she left.

She hurried down the stairs, her hair billowing behind her, her heels clattering on the marble floor. Elation fluttered in her throat, and she struggled to contain the feeling. She didn't want anyone to see her this excited. Because, of course, no one should be that happy after a break-up. Especially not the infamously stoic Blair Waldorf.

And something like dread gripped her as she swept past the paintings lining the Archibalds' front hallway. Perhaps Chuck would not be waiting in his limo when she stepped into the spring air. He had seen Blair proclaim that it was over between she and Nate, yes, but she knew only too well that he saw what he wanted to see. Nothing less, nothing more. And if he wanted to get rid of her, if he wanted to run from his feelings like he had been doing for all his life…he would convince himself of her mistake and leave her.

It was a thought she dared not entertain, even as she flung open the Archibalds' front door and saw the black limo parked next to the street. She did not think it odd that Chuck was not standing next to it; he would not want his best friend to see him greeting his ex-girlfriend immediately following their break-up. He would not want anyone to see that, for that matter.

But as Chuck's driver walked around to her side and pulled open her door, as her gaze flashed to the darkness within, as her eyes met the tantalizing, affectionate eyes of Chuck Bass himself, she couldn't help but wonder why she had ever doubted him.

She smiled at him as she took a seat next to him, whispering, "Happy now?"

"Delighted," he confessed, smirking while draping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards him. "Drive," he instructed his driver.

And so the man did as he told, and Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf drove through the streets of Manhattan, their silence more evocative than words could ever have been. And he kissed her forehead occasionally, and she reached for his hand, and they agreed, without making any promises, that farewells were not necessary between them. Not now, and not ever again.

Forever. What a vague word. But it meant so much to them.

Just as the limo reached Blair's apartment, Chuck whispered, "Go on, Blair. I'll call you later. There's something I have to do first."

She smiled at him and pulled away before murmuring, "I meant what I said last night. I did."

He was silent, and she shook her head in understanding, whispering, "You don't have to say anything, of course. I just wanted you to know."

He nodded, and she stroked his cheek and leaned towards him, her lips reaching for his. He closed the distance between them, and for a long moment, only muffled whispers and fervent touches filled the silence. Only lips meeting lips, hands entwining, breath mingling. It was a soft kiss, the kind that Chuck had never had before, despite his many sexual encounters. It was the kind of kiss that Blair had always dreamed of but had never really believed in.

That is, until now.

And as she strode up the steps to her apartment, and as Chuck's limo disappeared into the throngs of cars, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she had found him. The guy who would save her, the guy who would love her.

It was a scary thought, but also a thought that she didn't want to let go of.

And so she flung herself on her bed and fell asleep, dreaming of blossoming flowers and fluttering butterflies.


	9. Cut With Our Own Dust

**A/N: Here's another long chapter! I'm sorry it took me so long to update, but I really wanted to get it right.**

**A special shoutout goes out to EternallyEC for her wonderful review. It inspired me beyond what I thought I was capable of. So thank you :)**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by John Webster.**

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Chapter 9

Cut With Our Own Dust

* * *

_Dress your wounds, test your strength, face the night  
Crave the touch, feel the pain, know the signs  
Is there truth in your pain?  
You decide  
- Shade of Poison Trees by Dashboard Confessional_

Chuck swayed drunkenly as he waddled down the street, his hair falling over his eyes. He couldn't see where he was going; the haze of alcohol impairing his vision was Blair-induced, but still pertinent.

His purpose was clear, though. That much he knew. He had to find her.

He could still smell the vanilla tinge of her chocolate curls as her lips brushed his cheek, could still hear her throaty whisper as her words spurred hope in his frozen heart. He couldn't banish the sight of her lips forming the sentence that perhaps confirmed what they both already knew.

"I'll tell him," she had whispered. And tell him she had. And he had to watch it.

It had hurt, yes. It had torn through the already shattered recesses of his heart. But at least...at least Blair had ended her afternoon in his arms. In _Chuck's _arms. That was some consolation.

But, of course, once she had left him, he had gotten miserably, awfully, immensely drunk, because he couldn't cope with the fact that he was going to go on a date with Blair Waldorf. It seemed so impossible, so fantastical. It was too perfect to be real.

And so he consumed more scotch than was necessary, and when he was thoroughly wasted, he stumbled out of his suite and walked through the bustling streets of Manhattan, shocking the passerby with his blatant drunkenness. He didn't care, of course. It was rather amusing, actually.

But there was nothing funny about what he had done to himself.

He wasn't a man, that was for sure. He was a coward who couldn't face his problems.

The painfully vivid memories flitted through Chuck's mind, but he ignored them, instead reaching for the vibrating phone in his pocket.

He stumbled a bit as his glazed eyes flitted over the message on the tiny screen.

_Spotted: Queen B ousting our very own Golden Prince. Uh-oh. Looks like __**N**__ is girlfriend-less now. But no worries. I'm sure he won't be for long._

_You know you love me,  
Gossip Girl_

Chuck smiled in amusement but stumbled on the sidewalk, the concrete indentations blurring and mingling in the darkness. He couldn't quite remember how he had managed to get so drunk, but it did occur to him that he should probably find Blair. He _had_ promised to call her.

And so he walked into the nearest restaurant, ignoring the hostess' alarm at his disheveled appearance, and flung open the bathroom door. He didn't pause to look at his reflection, instead turning the faucet on the sink and splashing his face with as much cold water as he could.

It helped some, he thought.

While water dripped from his chin, he typed out a quick message to Blair before his courage floundered, smiling a little as his fingers punched the tiny buttons on his phone.

_My driver will pick you up at 7. _

He didn't think it was necessary to tell her where she would be going or what she should wear. The details were unimportant. All that mattered was that he saw her. Because he needed to show her what she had inspired him to do.

He called his driver, arranged all the details, and then headed to his suite to wait for the clock to strike seven. He hoped that he would be less drunk by the time he was supposed to meet Blair. He knew it wasn't quite possible for him to be sober after only a few hours (three, he thought), but maybe the effects of the alcohol would lessen some. He hoped.

Once it was time, he strode out the door. He needed to see her. He knew that much. He could survive anything if it meant that he would see her.

And so he walked towards Blair, and, consequently, towards salvation.

He found her by the building his driver had taken her to, her hair billowing in the wind, her eyes innocent and affectionate as she watched him approach.

He stood in front of her for a long moment, admiring the curve of her lips and the arch of her eyebrows. She stared at him wryly but otherwise did not interrupt his musing. He made her feel beautiful and desired, and she didn't intend on giving that up any time soon.

But after a few minutes, she wanted to know why he had told her to meet him...wherever they were.

"What are we doing here?" she demanded, tugging her navy blue coat closer to her body, as if to ward off the refreshing April winds. She shivered suddenly, the foreign air seeping into her veins like ice. She had no idea where the hell she was – she hadn't been paying attention when Chuck's driver took her – and the black doors in front of her were hopelessly nondescript. She was almost frightened, actually.

Chuck laughed at her obvious discomfort and shook his head mildly, running a hand through his perfectly styled locks in a well-practiced movement that most definitely had the desired effect on Blair. Her eyes locked on his fingers as lust darkened her eyes, but she quickly shook free of his mesmerizing hold and glared at him pointedly.

"There's something I want to show you," he clarified, smiling at her obvious confusion, "That's why we're here."

She nodded and waited for him to open the surreptitious doors, shifting from foot to foot impatiently. A few moments passed, and still he did not venture forward, instead gazing at her in a completely indiscernible emotion.

She looked away at last from his penetrating eyes and exclaimed, "Well, get on it with then! I don't have all night."

He laughed again, and she smiled, because true happiness was rare for him. He deserved joy, yes, deserved to grin and have fun. But the shadow of his father practically invited darkness into his eyes, and he chose to escape through sex. This was one of the only times Blair had seen him smile. Of course, though, she was determined to change that.

Chuck flung open the black doors and whispered almost inaudibly, "This way, Waldorf."

The darkness lurking beyond his hands was ominous, to say the least, but Blair was curious despite herself, and she followed him into the black, thrusting her hands into her pockets in a feeble attempt to protect herself.

But she quickly freed her hands of that warm security, because it was all she could do not to fling her hands over her mouth and exclaim in surprise and delight.

"What is it?" she breathed, her eyes darting across the spacious room. Because really, she had no idea what she was looking at. Well, she did, but she had no idea why Chuck was showing her this.

It was a nightclub, filled with men gyrating to the erotic music and women in slinky dresses that reflected patterns of silver and gold. The walls were a deep, rich blue, dark as the night sky, and hanging from the ceiling were several…not disco balls. That wasn't the word, Blair mused. They were more or less chandeliers, but somehow, there was a distinctly sexual feel to them.

But what transfixed Blair was the stage. For there on the platform were burlesque dancers. Not strippers. Not whores. Not random girls straight off the dance floor. Real burlesque dancers, complete with corsets and garters and six-inch heels.

Blair gasped and turned to Chuck, repeating, "What _is_ this?"

"My latest business endeavor," he explained proudly, almost giddily, "This is Victrola, a place where the unreal can happen, a place where fantasies come true."

"Sure sounds like a business pitch to me," Blair grumbled, still confused as to why Chuck had brought her here. She had thought this was a date, but apparently, he had just wanted to show off.

"Well, it is," he murmured, narrowing his eyes as if he was surprised she had said such a thing, "I'm pitching it to Bart tomorrow."

Blair gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes softening as she absorbed the uncertainty lingering in the devastatingly beautiful planes of his face. She had never seen him so insecure, so scared. He had always been such an overwhelming presence in her life, the one person she could always count on to be strong. And now here he was, exposing his vulnerability to _her_, of all people. It was an undeniably poignant moment, and she couldn't help but forgive him for all his past transgressions.

"Then why do you need me here?" she asked gently, touching her hand to his sleeve tentatively.

He looked shocked again, and she almost smiled, but faltered when wonder crept into his eyes. What could he possibly be marveling at?

But soon enough, the admiration fled his eyes, and he said loudly, as if it should have been obvious, "You're here to tell me what you think, of course."

She reeled back in shock, but recovered quickly. It was immensely flattering that her opinion mattered to him so much, and she paused to consider the scene before her, wondering if Bart would like it. She fervently hoped that he would, because it was evident that Chuck had expended much time and effort on this.

And he had succeeded beyond what he had probably thought he was capable of. The club was unique, colorful, and captivating. Blair had never felt so bombarded by sights and smells and sounds, but it was a pleasant effect. The music was just loud enough, the room just crowded enough, the dancers just risqué enough. It was perfect.

"Well, Bass…" she trailed off teasingly, smiling a little at the alarm in his eyes.

"You did me proud!" she exclaimed honestly, her gaze tracing the elevated stage, the fully stocked bar, and the strategically placed white leather couches. It truly was a haven, she marveled. An escape from all the noise and havoc of Manhattan's busy streets and corporate investors.

"And you are my toughest critic," Chuck murmured in unconcealed delight, his eyes searching her face for any signs of indecision or suppressed opinion. He had designed this place with her in mind, really. He had wanted her to have somewhere she could be herself, somewhere she could burst free of everything that held her captive. He had hoped that Victrola would be her sanctuary. And thankfully, the admiration dancing in her eyes was a good sign that it would be.

She smiled at him and whispered, "Thank you, Chuck."

He merely nodded, because he knew what she meant, and he didn't have to ask her. It wasn't just gratitude for this club he had so lovingly orchestrated. It wasn't gratitude for this night, or that day, or everything that had happened between them in the past week. It was more than that. It was silent acknowledgement of years of friendship and protection.

"I'm glad you're dressed appropriately for the occasion," he appraised her, his eyes unashamedly roaming her body. She blushed prettily, but basked in the glow of his pleasure, resisting the urge to hug herself in pure joy.

She looked down at herself, wondering why it had taken her so long to get ready for this night. In retrospect, the outfit she was wearing seemed to be the only choice. How could she have ever thought otherwise?

He leaned toward her, as if to kiss her, and she waited with bated breath, almost aching for the touch of his lips on hers. But then he bent his head, and his lips shivered past her ear as he whispered hungrily, "You look ravishing."

She smiled in relief, because a kiss in such a public place would not have been wise. Of course, though, she couldn't quite banish the rejection that flooded her senses when his eyes burned into hers. She quelled the heat in her throat and responded playfully, "You'll ravish me, I'm sure."

He nodded, and she trembled, because there was something in his eyes that perhaps should not have been there. There was longing, and affection, and…an emotion so complicated and fleeting that she didn't dare attempt to classify it.

He extended a hand to her, and she gladly took it, grasping at the chance to ease the tension between them. But his touch shuddered through her when her gaze fell on their clasped hands, and their eyes met as she tilted her head in embarrassment. Because she wasn't supposed to feel this much. Not about Chuck. Not about Nate. Not about anyone.

"Come with me." It wasn't a question, nor should it have been.

He led her to a white couch in front of the stage, and they sat down. And they remained in silence for a long moment, lost in the cacophony of music and dancers and voices. The strobe lights flickered, mesmerizing Blair in their every flick and flitter. They reminded her of the creatures she had so longed to banish just hours ago. She could almost see the butterflies caressing the air above her with their fragile, beautiful wings.

But as she immersed herself in thoughts of desire and affection, Chuck leaned back against the couch and let his gaze fall idly on the buxom courtesans – a more polite term, he thought, than whores or strippers, though that was they were. Because although they could never be entrancing as the serene, quiet girl – no, woman – next to him, it was easier to want them than her. Though, of course, he could never be satisfied with anyone else. It was like weeds and flowers, really. There was just no contest.

"You know, I've got moves," she murmured unexpectedly, fingering the pearls around her neck, bobbing her head in time to the music.

He looked over at her and smiled, because she was here and she was with him and nothing else mattered. But her words prompted a laugh from his easily frowning mouth, and he smirked in unconcealed amusement, asking quizzically, "Really?"

She turned her head, glaring at him with an almost dreamlike quality, as if the alcohol she had consumed had slipped a film over her eyes, and nodded vehemently. He gazed at her with smoldering eyes in response and shook his head slightly.

She turned away, a heavy sigh escaping her mouth, and scoffed, "Not that I would ever get up there. I'm just saying, I've got moves."

In her periphery, she saw him nod in stern agreement and fling his hand over his mouth, repressing a laugh.

A haze of red clouded her vision, and suddenly, hot anger consumed her every thought. How dare he laugh at her!

He murmured patronizingly, "Whatever you say, Waldorf."

She shook her head and tilted her head, her eyes blazing into his. "You don't think I'll really do it," She mused, almost disbelievingly, but not quite. Because there was some justification behind his incredulity, really. This was exactly the type of thing she _didn't _do. It was so bold, so public, so un-Blair. She had even said it herself. Really, he couldn't be blamed for thinking she would never get up on that stage and perform a striptease.

Which was exactly why she wanted to. She wanted to surprise him, wanted to break free of the mold she had so carefully fit into all her life. She wanted, in short, to make Chuck lust for her. She knew Nate had never exactly desired her. But she knew Chuck certainly had. And did.

"I know you won't," Chuck drawled lazily, his gaze fixed on the showy dancers prancing around the stage.

Those words spurred something inside her, and she stood up in resolution and handed him her cocktail glass, murmuring distractedly, "Guard my drink."

"Blair – " he protested, standing up and reaching out to her with one hand.

But she was already gone.

He watched her stride up to the stage and ascend the stairs. He watched her nod to the skeptical dancers and turn around to face the audience. He watched her throw a cocky smile in his direction and tilt her head, as if listening to the music. He watched her do all this, and still, he could not believe his eyes.

Blair Waldorf was going to do a striptease. In what world had he allowed this to happen?

In his dreams, perhaps.

But he remained standing, and he watched her, because he knew somehow that nothing would ever be the same after this night.

Her eyes caught his, and she smiled to herself, swaying to the beat. She felt invigorated, powerful. She could do this. She could dance. She could strip. She could make Chuck Bass fall to his knees in unadulterated desire.

And so she did.

A sigh left her mouth, and she trailed her fingers through her silken curls and grasped her intricately beaded headband, flinging it in Chuck's direction. She didn't look to see if he had caught it. She drew her hand across her chest and let her fingers flutter around her zipper, closing her eyes in relief and ecstasy.

It was so unfamiliar, being up there, doing this. But she had never felt freer in her life. And for a moment, she truly believed that she was beautiful.

She ignored the wolf whistles and shouts reverberating in her ears, instead locking eyes with Chuck as a sly smile crept onto her face. She tore the zipper down her body quickly, and suddenly, she could _breathe_. The constricting fabric was gone. Everything holding her back had fled the night. All that remained was she. And she would make this moment last, because come morning, the memory of it would be the last remnant of a different Blair than everyone knew. This Blair, the Blair who laughed 'til tears ran down her face and danced with reckless abandon.

Suddenly, she understood the perfection of being Serena. It was the joy of being yourself, and not caring what others thought of you. It was a joy Blair had wished she could experience for much longer than she cared to remember. But now, now…now, she could be like that, too.

She watched in satisfaction as lust flickered through Chuck's dark eyes. He smiled ruefully as the dress pooled around her arched feet, and his hands shook as he raised his glass in salute to her.

He wasn't quite sure was happening. One moment, she had been saying loftily that she had moves, and the next she was on that stage, stealing the spotlight from the bimbos clustered around her. Blood throbbed in his groin, and he swallowed painfully, averting his eyes in a desperate attempt to quell the desire ripping through his body.

One of the servers – who may or may not have been a man – sidled up to him and asked loudly, "Who that's girl?"

Chuck shook his head, drawing his gaze up to meet the tortuously voluptuous body of Blair Waldorf, and answered truthfully, "I have no idea."

Because he really didn't. She had transformed before his very eyes. He did not know what had happened.

As his eyes found hers once more, Blair stepped out of her dress and bent down, trailing her hand along her leg as her feet met the floor, biting her finger seductively, tilting her head just so. She shook her curls, letting them tumble across the illuminated skin of her bare neck, and fingered the pearls caressing her chest. She stood up, her eyes still fixed on Chuck's, and began swaying again. With a sigh and a smile, she raised her arms above her head and freed herself of the necklaces dangling around her neck. She threw them at Chuck, and this time, she made sure he caught them.

A delicate laugh fled her mouth, and she strutted across the stage, moving in time to the music. Because really, there was nothing left to do except dance.

She continued her show for a moment or two before nodding slightly in Chuck's direction and smiling at the audience in exaggerated pleasure.

And then she walked off the stage confidently, her satin heels echoing in the bustling room, and slinked past Chuck, whispering in his ear, "Told you I had moves."

He smiled amusedly and followed her into the night, wondering for a moment how he had ever doubted his brown-eyed vixen.

* * * * *

He held open the limo door for her, shooing away the driver when he began to walk around to her side, and whispered, "For you, madam."

He bowed exaggeratedly, and she giggled, a merry sound that reached his ears with all the triumph of relief. He closed his eyes in heavy-lidded desire and swallowed the hunger that suddenly swelled in his throat.

She chuckled throatily at the flutter of his eyelids and slid into the darkness, relishing the feel of the leather on her bare legs. The slip and slide of cool satin seemed calming now. The silence was a haven, an escape. And so she breathed in the night air and leaned out the window, laughing gaily as she watched Chuck close the door and walk around to his side.

She turned her head when he took his seat beside her, her gaze tracing the curves and pleats of his jacket, her eyes roaming his shoulders and neck, and, finally, the pristine lines of his face.

She had to look away then, because the playfulness of Victrola had vanished, and all that remained was them. It was too much, really.

Unbridled passion flickered between them, and she closed her eyes to banish the images invading her carefully controlled thoughts. She couldn't reveal how he affected her. That would offer him too much power over her.

And so she leaned back against the seat, her head lolling lazily, and gazed at him in undisguised affection. She wanted to say something as her eyes fell on his, wanted to thank him for the freedom of that night, wanted to apologize for everything she had ever said to hurt him and everything she had ever done to shake and falter the trust between them.

But before she could speak, he shook his head slightly, and she smiled. There would be time for questions later. A lifetime, even.

They gazed at each other for a long moment. And in that moment, in the clash of brown and amber, she wondered idly why she had fought him for so long. It had been months since she had first felt the lilt of attraction for him, and only a few days since she had admitted it. And once she had…well, their romance had proceeded much too fast for her liking. But she supposed that made sense, in some twisted way.

It was the classic tale of two best friends falling for each other. But it was anything other than predictable.

It was Chuck who finally broke the silence.

"You were…amazing up there," he said softly, his hand sliding across the black leather to clasp with hers. She gasped a little but didn't move away, realizing he was the only one who could save her now. Perhaps he had always been that guy, and she had just never seen it.

She nodded slightly, her chin quivering, and looked at him for a long moment, warmed by the affection in his eyes. It was such an unfamiliar feeling, really. She was almost wistful for the times of years past, the glares he would throw at her and the smirks that would grace his face when he saw her tremble in fear and intimidation. It seemed like it had been easier then. Simpler, at the very least.

But she smiled, stroking his fingers lightly, because who they were now was more real, more precious. More tender. Their history wasn't important anymore. He may have been Chuck Bass, but she was Blair Waldorf, and she was more than a match for him.

And so she pressed her forehead to his and whispered, "Where do we go from here?"

It was a question that had been plaguing her, and it begged answering. And so she gave it leave, because blank stares and dull smiles were simply too easy. Nate had been like that, so willing to let it be with an easy touch and a soothing kiss. But she was far too complicated for that. She needed to know _why_ everything would be all right, not just that it would be. And Nate had never understood that.

Chuck closed his eyes, squeezing her hand reassuringly, and whispered, the faint breath leaving his mouth more beautiful than anything Nate could ever say or do or be, "I don't know."

And he didn't, and it scared him. It scared the hell out of him.

But Blair only sighed in relief and murmured gently, "That's okay. We'll figure it out as we go."

He nodded, his eyes still blissfully closed, and she let her gaze rise to meet his, her eyes reaching to him through her eyelashes. He breathed in and out, trembling at her proximity, as she had just a couple days ago, and sighed raggedly. He had never been able to resist her.

She smiled and caught his lips with hers, her tongue caressing his bottom lip. There was no hesitation in her touch, no question. She had been neglected for far too long. It was time to go after what she wanted. And she wanted Chuck.

He didn't open his eyes, but a sort of softness flew into the contours of his face, and his fingers flitted across her hand in delicate, gentle movements. And so she kissed him, letting her warmth seep into his broken body, healing him and herself with the caress of her lips and the grip of her hand. She sidled closer to him and pulled him towards her, her hands entwined around his neck, her tumbling curls brushing his chest and neck and face.

They were quiet for a long moment, as the paned windows steamed and fog replaced breath. It was forgiveness, and victory, and affection. It was more than them, more than what they both knew. Heat blazed between them, faltering and spinning in the fragility of her fingers sweeping across his neck. She searched the expanse of pale skin and pressed her slender finger to his pulse, breathing as his heart beat.

The moments stretched and lingered, and still they clung to each other. The darkness seemed to penetrate, and the moistness of skin clashing with flushed desire banished the black. It was easy, simple. Far more familiar than anything they had ever known.

For her, it was acceptance, really. She breathed with him, and she finally let go of Nate and Serena's betrayal, of her mother's disapproval, of the stares and taunts the girls threw at her as she walked up the steps. She was here with him now, and that was all that mattered.

Yes, this would ruin her. Her reputation would be tarnished, and it might never recover. Serena would gasp in horror, her mother would scold her for her poor taste, and Nate would never again look at her without disgust.

But she couldn't make herself care.

She was desperate, though, for more contact. She breathed Chuck in, breathed in scotch and fire, breathed in the exotic aromas clinging to the dip of his chest. She wanted more than his lips, wanted to feel him along every inch of her tingling skin. And the thought had her bringing her hands away from his neck and placing them on his chest, playing with the lapels of his jacket, as if in question.

He pulled away slightly and let his gaze fall on her small hands, whispering, "You sure?"

He didn't want to take this from her. She deserved more than he could give her, more than the backseat of a limo. As much as he wanted to strip her of her defenses and drink in the tantalizing, forbidden skin of her neck and her shoulders and her long, shimmering legs…no, he didn't dare. She was too important to him.

But she smiled weakly and nodded, breathing in the air he breathed at her. She felt something rise inside her like a bird unfurling its gloriously scarred wings, and she knew suddenly that Chuck Bass could – and would – make her feel alive again. There was affection flitting through his dark eyes, and desire. The mingling of both sparked a hidden craving in her, and she nodded again. Because despite the many times she had come close to having sex with Nate, she had never felt more ready than she did now.

This was Chuck. Her protector, her savior. And now, the guy she would lose her virginity to. It should her have scared her, but somehow, it didn't.

Because Chuck Bass, the notorious playboy of the Upper East Side, had paused to ask her if she was sure. She knew he had never asked for a girl's consent. It was a sacred moment, rare and ephemeral and almost ethereal. It was another world, really, this new question. She was sure she had never heard such beautiful words.

And so she brought herself towards him.

Their faces were so close now. She could see every line and crevice of the face she knew so well: the dancing brown eyes, the smooth, coiffed brown hair, the small smirk playing at the sides of his mouth. There was such strength in his face, such love and hope…

And so she nodded yet again, and he pressed his lips to hers and traced the contours of her back with his skilled fingers. She shivered, and he paused, but she kissed him again, reminding herself as she did that she needed to maintain her composure.

But that she would fail at, and she was glad. Because as his hands moved to the bottom of her dress and fiddled with the hem in slow, easy movements, as he slid the straps of her slip off her shoulders and kissed her neck, as he unclasped her bra and stared at her in unabashed pleasure…she realized that losing herself with him was far more gratifying than being prim and proper and contained.

She crossed her arms protectively as his eyes traced the curves of her torso, but he tenderly clasped her hands and whispered, "You're beautiful, Blair." He held her trembling body close to his, his lips gliding along her jaw, and she smiled, because he hadn't called her Waldorf.

She grew bold then, unbuttoning his shirt, throwing it to the floor. She freed him of his pants and looked into his eyes for the longest of moments. Skin met skin, lips met lips. And before she pulled him towards her, he pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, "We don't have to do this."

She shook her head and murmured, "I told you it would always be you."

He nodded, and she smiled slightly, twisting his messy locks around her fingers. He hovered over her, his hands grasping her hips, his forehead leaning on hers. She tugged his face down to hers and kissed him, because he was Chuck and she was Blair and she knew he was all she would ever want.

And so she followed him into the great unknown, letting him take her most sacred possession. She wanted him to finally know her, because he was the only person who ever could.

But there was a moment of pure fear, right before his tongue pierced her lips and her legs parted to meet him. She shivered, and trembled, and gasped anxiously. She wanted him, _needed _him, yes. But he knew far more than she ever could about the meeting of hands and lips and tongues, and suddenly, that scared her.

He pulled back, and waited, because he cared about her enough that if she were the least bit hesitant, he wouldn't do it. He wouldn't hold her, wouldn't take what she so willingly gave.

But the concern in his eyes flickered through her paralyzed body, and her back arched of its own volition, thrusting her towards him. Her eyes beseeched him to get closer to her, to look into her eyes and make her feel like she mattered.

And so he did.

There was no fanfare, no silk sheets and fluffed pillows, no fancy suite at the Palace. It wasn't at all what she had imagined. She didn't give her virginity to Nate as she had been hoping to for nearly all her life. It didn't happen after weeks of careful planning. No, it didn't happen like she had always dreamed.

It was different. And, perhaps, far more special than it could have ever been with Nate.

For a fleeting moment, she thought ruefully that Audrey Hepburn would never have done such a thing. She would never have slept with a guy on the same day she broke up with her childhood boyfriend. She would never have had sex in the back of a limo. It was so unrefined and so…beneath her, Blair supposed.

But Blair let out a quiet laugh, because she suddenly realized that she didn't want to be like Audrey, not if it meant being with Nate. She didn't want warmth and comfort and security. She wanted fire, passion. She wanted _Chuck_.

His arms around her. His lips close to hers. It was what she needed, and if she had to fight to get it, if she had to follow him into the darkness and to her death…she would do it, because to live without him was to give up on life completely.

And Blair Waldorf didn't give up.

_tbc_


	10. I Am In Earnest

**A/N: I know an apology cannot even begin to excuse how long it took me to get this update to you, but regardless, I apologize. I've been sick for the past week and barely had the energy to get out of bed, let alone write - although that's not quite an excuse either - and for some reason, this chapter just took me forever. But here it is. Finally.**

**Also, thank you Robin (**Noirreigne**) for your lovely reviews for every chapter so far. They are so detailed and thoughtful.**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from Salutatory of the Liberator by William Lloyd Garrison.**

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Chapter 10

I Am In Earnest

* * *

_I know this love is passing time  
Passing through like liquid  
I am drunk in my desire  
But I love the way you smile at me  
I love the way your hands reach out and hold me near  
I believe...  
__- Elsewhere by Sarah McLachlan_

The slight whistle of the wind woke Blair, and she sighed dreamily, burrowing into the warm cocoon of Chuck Bass' strong arms. Her eyes fluttered incessantly, begging relief, but she refused to let the light in yet.

The moment was much too precious to interrupt. After years of struggling to be perfect with Nate, Blair had found someone she no longer felt the need to impress. Even as her eyes reveled in the momentary darkness, she knew the sight of her naked body would not revolt her as it once had when she at last awoke. She would appreciate the curve of her hips now, would trace the shape of her breasts in wonder as Chuck had only the night before. She would love her body.

Granted, it would take more than one night of fabulous love-making – because Blair could not bring herself to call it "sex" yet – to heal her damaged self-esteem, but she had a life with Chuck now. It would all fix itself eventually.

But something elusive tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She wondered fleetingly what would happen when she and Chuck awoke.

And suddenly she realized that the night had meant nothing, at least not to anyone who mattered. The fact that she had slept with Chuck Bass was a point of much pleasure for her, but she was sure, a point of shame for her mother and all her friends. And besides, the night spent in Chuck's arms did not mean that Blair and Chuck were going to be in a relationship. She wanted it to, but it was not assumed. She would have to fight for it.

She cringed at the thought. She would have to fight for Chuck Bass.

What kind of alternate universe had she stumbled into? What kind of place would have her, Blair Waldorf, demanding that a _Bass_ want her?

But she immediately retracted the thought. She wasn't ashamed of wanting Chuck. She wouldn't let herself be.

And yet…there was another reason she was afraid of fighting for Chuck. She was wary of the panic that was sure to creep into Chuck's eyes once he awoke and found her in his arms. This was the sort of thing he shied away from, she reasoned. He abhorred cuddling, even after sex. It was just who he was.

Of course, Blair couldn't help but hope that this was different, that _she _was different. But she knew that she shouldn't be disappointed if he demanded that she leave immediately. He had done it so many times before, to countless other girls he had fucked 'til they screamed his name...just as Blair had done. Several times.

She smiled a little, but promptly wrenched herself to reality. Because hadn't he once bragged that he never slept with the same girl twice? She was sure she was no exception.

And yes, the sex had been wonderful, better than she could have ever imagined. He had been so tender, so sure, so soft. So..._not_ Chuck.

Blair was beginning to understand that the man she had fallen in love with was far removed from the boy she had thought she knew. She had been so sure he was just a typical womanizer, her partner-in-crime, Nate's best friend. She had never thought there was anything more to him. She regretted that, she did. She realized it had been so obvious, and she had just never cared enough to look.

Her resolve faltered shortly. Because, she realized, Nate had treated her the same way she had treated Chuck. She had never bothered to understand Chuck. And Nate had never torn his eyes away from Serena long enough to love her.

Blair sighed a little. She should have seen it, she knew. She should have seen Chuck's struggle to be enough for his father and his well-disguised contempt for his best friend. She should have seen it all.

She clenched her fists unconsciously at the thought, and Chuck shifted against her. She froze, her muscles locking as if for impact, and waited anxiously for his breathing to subside.

She sighed in relief when he pulled her close and buried his nose in her hair, his chest heaving steadily, rhythmically. The feathery wisps of his hair tickled her ears, and she laughed slightly, content rolling off her in waves. She settled in his arms, breathing in the scent clinging to his bare chest. She was certain that same smell of scotch and sex would linger on her skin too, long after she and Chuck parted.

As the thought flitted through her lazy thoughts, she felt Chuck's eyelids flutter against her hair. She shuddered a little, whispering teasingly, "Wake up, Bass."

It was a gentle, soft, loving murmur, and his answering words were just as relaxed. "Good morning, Waldorf."

She smiled and waited for him to say more, but he was silent. She almost relished the still of the morning, the breath hovering in the air above their heads. It was peaceful. They didn't have the chance to ruin the perfection of the moment.

But finally, she rolled over, her lips curving upward as his arms moved to accommodate her, and gazed into his unfathomable eyes for a long moment. His right hand traced the curve of her body and came to rest on her hip, his fingers stroking the skin beyond her stomach. She sighed in content and closed her eyes, whispering, "This is easy, isn't it?"

Chuck laughed and pulled her closer, restraining himself as her hip clashed with his. It wasn't so easy for him, really, to be this tantalizingly close to the epitome of beauty herself, Blair Waldorf. He was a self-defined sex addict, after all. And despite the many times he had ravished the raven-haired vixen the night before he hadn't quite sated his thirst. Somehow, he doubted he ever would.

But there was much to be said between them, apologies and explanations. And, perhaps, promises.

His reminiscing was interrupted by the words spilling from Blair's pristine mouth. "I suppose it's not the best idea to kiss you," she laughed, her fingers curling around her lips as she stifled the sound.

He nodded in amusement, his voice dropping as he whispered, "And yet somehow it surprises me not in the least that you are about to do that very thing."

She smiled coyly and tilted her head, capturing her lips with his. He moaned against her mouth as she deepened the kiss, his hands circling her waist as her fingers stretched around his neck. She entwined her legs with his as their lips rubbed red and skies erupted with fire, heat spilling and faltering. The slip and slide of smooth skin and rough hair collided and broke, and Blair sighed in acute relief. Their lips remembered every touch, every caress, every breath from the night before as the air flowed from mouth to mouth. It was easy, simple, familiar.

There was no strain, no rush that morning. He had lost the aggressive tint he was so well known for, and she had dropped the façade of perfection.

Because, she realized, there was no need to impress him.

Blair ached to close the space between her body and Chuck's, but she was afraid of what remained unspoken. There was so much that needed to be said, so much they needed to resolve. And so she dragged her mouth away from his and shook her head, trying to resist the heat emanating from his lips.

"Chuck, we need to talk," she insisted.

He nodded and let darkness seep into his eyes, averting his gaze as he murmured sarcastically, "Such wonderful words."

She laughed but couldn't banish the doubt coloring her lips as she spoke. "It's just…what did this mean?"

Chuck groaned in reply, casually lifting his hands off Blair's hip and threading his fingers through his messy locks. Blair shuddered at the sudden lack of heat on her skin and crossed her arms across her naked chest, trying to protect herself from his penetrating gaze. She wasn't sure she entirely enjoyed the determination lingering in his eyes. She felt bare, stripped of all pretenses. Vulnerable.

She almost drew her body away from Chuck's, as if to punish him for making her question herself, but stopped when he winced. A fleeting affection colored his caramel eyes, and she raised her chin defiantly, subconsciously stilling the trembling of her hands as she waited for her lover to speak.

But was that what he was? Just a lover, someone she could use and then discard?

No, she reasoned, he wasn't. He could never be.

And still, Chuck said nothing. Blair wished there were words for a moment like this, words to ease the tension and break the heavy silence. But every time anguish and affection swelled on her tongue, she clamped her mouth shut and forced herself to wait for Chuck to speak first. It was his turn now.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a mere whisper, his eyes downcast. "I don't know," he murmured, truthfully, Blair suspected. "What do we want it to mean?"

He was confused, and slightly incoherent. He wasn't his usual eloquent, smooth self. And somehow, Blair relished the sound of his stumbling voice. It was strangely gratifying.

She knew what she wanted the night to mean. She wanted it to mean that she and Chuck were now in a relationship, that they would defy their parents' reputations and just be together. She wanted to tell him that, too. But she didn't have the courage yet. And so instead, she replied loftily, her words teasing and worse than dishonest, "Bass, don't flatter yourself. I want nothing more than to forget that this ever happened."

Her eyes fell on Chuck's elegant features just as the corners of his mouth slumped in defeat. She gulped, regretting her teasing words. Just as before, she had forgotten how much things had changed between them. She could no longer joke with him. Because now, they had both admitted the fall of the truth. And there was no room, she realized. No room to pretend that something monumental hadn't happened.

Chuck whispered stiffly, "If you so desire, Waldorf." His voice was faint, disdainful, broken. It was slightly too mournful for Blair to handle.

She laughed uneasily and cried, "I was joking! Obviously my ability to make you laugh has been severely impaired, but you must know that I was not being serious!"

"I know nothing," Chuck murmured coldly, his eyes burning into hers with an intensity that both frightened and enticed her, "As you have so dutifully pointed out."

Blair shook her head, wringing her hands in despair, barely noticing the way Chuck's eyes fell to her now bare chest. She was afraid that he would leave her for the third time, that he would argue that the night had meant nothing to her and that she obviously still had feelings for Nate. But she didn't want Nate, and this time, she would not let Chuck go, even if he begged her to, even if he insulted her beyond their usual witty banter.

"I didn't mean it, Chuck," she affirmed quietly, not daring to meet his eyes just yet, "I was trying to lighten the mood."

"What a wonderful attempt," he murmured, lifting himself off the bed in a fluid movement that drew Blair's eyes to the delicate lines of his strong body.

She drank in the sight of him hungrily, wanting nothing more than to allow his hands to grip her waist and his lips to caress her skin. Her every nerve tingled in anticipation, and she knew she must rectify this situation, no mater how hard it was.

She stood up, stretching a little, and moved towards Chuck, who was now standing by the window, his shoulders tense as the muscles rippled underneath his pale skin. Blair hesitated for a moment, then clasped his hands in hers, her fingers stroking his as she breathed with him. He froze, but soon relaxed.

Blair sighed in relief – as she had done so many times that morning already – and took another step forward, resting her head on Chuck's back. Her lips traced the curve of his spine delicately, and he hummed under his breath, a content sound that reverberated through Blair's hands and flitted through her ears. She almost laughed, but restrained herself. There was something she had to say.

"I love you," she whispered, her lips hovering by the shell of his ear as she took a chance. She knew somehow that those three words were true, knew that the cracks and holes in her heart were healed and filled because of him. She had Chuck now, and despite what everyone might think, she was happy.

She had loved Nate, she thought. But that was over now. Because he had no longer been enough for her. She had grown up, and he had not.

She smiled at that revelation, basking in the welcoming silence between her and Chuck.

It didn't occur to her that he wouldn't say the words. She didn't know if she wanted him to, didn't know if it really mattered. She had heard him say it, had heard him whisper the words when he thought she was asleep. And that was enough.

When he said nothing, Blair sighed again, but not in disappointment. She felt the morning air still, felt the light spill in through the windows and caress the pristinely pale crevices of her face, and she let a smile curve her lips. She wasn't sure why, but she knew she would remember this moment forever.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. Because she was, and she needed Chuck to know that. She knew she had to be careful about what she said, because she and he were so used to games that nothing seemed real anymore. He had no proof that she wasn't just toying with him in some twisted plan to get Nate back. He had no way of knowing that she cared.

After a long moment, Chuck squeezed Blair's hands a little tighter and spun around effortlessly, pulling her into his arms so swiftly that she almost cried out in joy. His strong hands held her close as she let her head rest on the hollow beneath his throat, her tears soaking his skin. He kissed the top of her head, once, twice, then again, his bare chest trembling with emotion.

"Chuck," she whispered, sorrow and joy mingling in her voice.

"Yes?" he murmured in reply, his hands gripping her waist, his arms encircling her fragile body.

"I'm sorry." She felt the need to repeat it. Because she had hurt him, time and time again. She didn't want him to think that she still wanted Nate. She didn't want him to think that she cared about what her mother would say or about the post Gossip Girl would supply or about the reaction of the girls at Constance. What she wanted, she realized, was to be with Chuck. She wanted to let him love her, if it was the last thing she ever did for herself.

"No need," he muttered gruffly, his voice fading into gentleness as his eyelids fluttered against Blair's chestnut curls, "I already forgave you."

In truth, the words she had whispered so determinedly had done him in. She loved him, he marveled. She wasn't drunk, she wasn't crying, she wasn't desperate. She just wanted him to know that she loved him.

He would say it back, he resolved. Just not now. He would say the words once things were more peaceful.

And so he pulled back, gazed into Blair's guileless eyes, and whispered smoothly, tucking a stray lock behind her ear, "We'll talk over breakfast."

She nodded, pulling him close to her, wrapping her arms around him in a feeble attempt to make him stay exactly where he was forever. She would be content if they never left his suite, she thought.

But soon the sun pierced her eyes, and the morning came upon them. They both knew it was time to face what had happened.

Blair threw on a robe casually and averted her eyes as Chuck pulled on a silk pajama shirt, his hair mussed, his eyes dark and, if she wasn't mistaken, a little lustful. She smiled to herself and sat down on the bed, whispering, "Let's talk then, shall we?"

Chuck nodded and sat beside her, gesturing for her to lean against him. She did, resting her head on his chest as he stroked her hair, and murmured, "You're better at this than you think, you know."

"Better at what?" he asked curiously, amused.

"Being sweet." Her voice was teasing, gentle, affectionate, and he bit back his instinctive indignant reply. There was too much he needed to tell her to waste time on frivolous comments.

"Blair…" he began, his brow furrowing as he tried to put his thoughts into words, "Last night meant whatever you want it to mean."

Blair struggled to suppress a smile at how careful he was being. It was so unlike him to be gentle, so unlike him to respect her feelings, so unlike him to stroke her fingers delicately, as if she were the most fragile of glasses. And so she closed her eyes, relishing the fleeting moment, and murmured, "I daresay we both know what we want it to mean."

She felt Chuck stiffen behind her, and she twined her fingers through his lazily. She tilted her head sweetly and brought her free hand to his feverish cheek, watching as he unthinkingly rested his head against her palm. They fit so perfectly, she mused. Perhaps they were meant to do this.

"I love you, Chuck Bass," she said seriously, her eyes blazing with long-concealed emotion, "And I want to be with you."

He began to shake his head doubtfully, gently extracting his fingers from hers as if to prepare her for his inevitable departure, but she twisted around to face him and grasped his face with both of her hands. She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes soft. A haze of toffee and caramel slipped over her eyes, and she trembled in the heat of his gaze, wondering idly why she had never bothered to really look at him before. It was a humbling experience.

His eyes were smoldering, his lips curving, almost as if he was smirking. His hair swept across his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed over the crystalline depths beneath his eyelashes, he gazed at her 'til she thought she might faint.

But finally, she continued, "I know my mother will hate me for it, and I know Nate will probably never speak to us again –"

"Isn't that reason enough?" Chuck interjected, his voice far quieter than she would have expected.

Blair shook her head again, her right hand stroking his cheek lovingly. "No," she whispered, closing her eyes reverently, "It's not."

"Nathaniel's my best friend, Blair," Chuck whispered disdainfully, as if he couldn't believe she had suggested they disregard that fact., "This is worse than betrayal. If you recall, you and dear Nathaniel ended your lovely relationship only yesterday."

Blair flinched at the painful memory – it had been so radical, so _final_ – but averted her eyes and murmured, "Obviously, I got over him rather quickly."

She let her gaze rise to meet Chuck's, and there was astonishment and admiration in his eyes. She smiled a little and whispered, "Maybe I already was."

Some unidentifiable, indistinguishable emotion flitted through Chuck's dark eyes, and Blair shook her head gently, almost as if she was chastising him for believing she still cared about Nate. They had been through so much, she and Chuck, and she knew that much more would happen to them. But she didn't want Nate; she wanted Chuck, and perhaps she always had.

The silence lingered, still in the light of the morning, and Blair's eyes remained fixed on Chuck's. Her gaze dared him to speak, dared him to kiss her, dared him to do _anything_.

And finally, he did.

With a soft sigh, he reached out a trembling hand and stroked her cheek, his arm maneuvering through the warm hold of her hands on his face. He murmured, "You know I don't have the power to resist you."

She smiled in reply, her finger tracing the outline of his lips as she whispered, "Good. We'll figure it out. We always do."

He nodded slightly, leaning towards her as he asked gently, "So what do you propose?"

His choice of words sparked a sort or flutter in Blair's throat, and she averted her eyes, afraid of what her expression might reveal. For just a moment, she caught a glimpse of what a life with Chuck would be like. First, there'd be a romantic proposal, in the middle of Paris perhaps, with spectators oohing and aahing in delightfully accented French. Next would be a spectacular wedding, the very best that money and class could afford, with she dressed in a white Alexander McQueen sweeping gown and he suited in a devilishly handsome black Dolce tuxedo. Then would come a child – Blair almost cringed, but then resisted when she realized that perhaps that would not be the worst thing in the world – a beautiful girl with Chuck's instinct for seduction and, hopefully, lacking Blair's never-ending need for perfection.

But then Blair blinked, and pushed those thoughts away, because she and Chuck were far away from a fairytale ending like that.

She whispered finally, "We must tell them all."

Chuck's jaw dropped, and darkness slipped into his toffee eyes so quickly that Blair averted her gaze as heat flooded her cheeks. "Unless, of course," she struggled to offer him a way out, to clarify exactly what she meant and perhaps save herself some embarrassment, "You don't want to be with me, in which case – "

But Chuck didn't let her finish her sentence. Instead, he leaned closer to her and brought his lips to hers, his hands wrenching her face to his in an almost gentle manner. She relaxed under the grateful haze of his touch, relishing the dart of his tongue between her chapped lips and the scratch of her nails on his cheeks.

After a long moment, they pulled apart, and Blair whispered, her eyes delightfully closed, as if of their own volition, "I'm assuming that means you're not afraid of the commitment?" There was a sort of wry affection lingering in her voice, as if she wanted to tease him but also wanted to reassure him. She wasn't planning to leave him, not now, and not ever. She needed him to know that.

And so when Chuck said nothing, instead touching his lips to hers again, she let her eyelids flutter open and murmured, "But there is something I must talk to you about."

Chuck flinched, perhaps because of the serious note attached to her words, and withdrew his hands from her face. A black tint held in his eyes, and he nodded slowly.

Blair took a deep breath and stroked his cheek once more, the almost smooth contour of his cheek giving her some obtuse strength. She murmured, "I'm not one of your bar whores, Bass," she tried to retain some semblance of composure, even as her lower lip trembled and tears sprang to her eyes, "I'm in for the long haul. And if that's not what you have in mind, then this right here –" she gestured to the empty space between them and then folded and unfolded her perfectly French-manicured hands, "Then this is not going to work."

Chuck smiled at her, surprising both of them, and reached out to still her shaking hands, whispering reassuringly, "Then, Waldorf, be comforted with this statement of fact:"

She waited anxiously for a long moment as he looked at her, as if searching for the words to illustrate his meaning, but he said nothing. Her face fell, and she averted her eyes, afraid to hope for much of anything.

But finally, Chuck murmured, "I have no immediate plans to leave you."

Blair sighed in relief, for it was a start. She didn't expect much more from him; he was Chuck Bass. She couldn't reasonably expect him to ask her to be his girlfriend and then announce it to the whole world. He wasn't like that. And, she decided, that was okay.

She nodded solemnly, quelling the tugging sensation in her throat as she fought back joyous words, and merely said imperiously, "All right then. Who should we tell first?"

Her words were uncharacteristically childish, Chuck noticed, and that change in it of itself was more than enough for him to realize just how much the idea of telling people about their "relationship" scared her. He resolved to make the process as painless as possible. Because, he realized, he didn't want her to suffer because of him. Her love for him should never make her unhappy. At least, not if he could help it.

He almost snickered at the laughably corny, simpering nature of that thought, but resisted the urge. Instead, he laced his fingers through Blair's tentatively and offered, "Perhaps your mother first?"

Blair flinched involuntarily, a movement so instinctive that Chuck wanted to flinch with her. He couldn't believe that the thought of disappointing her mother repulsed her so. It almost made him retract the idea of romanticizing the stunningly beautiful woman before him. Almost.

But he cared too much about her to allow her departure, to let her go. She was his, and he intended to keep that way.

And yet he remained silent, waiting for Blair to speak. At last she did, averting her eyes, her gaze flitting and spinning and resting on anything but the eyes of the man she spoke to. "I suppose."

It was a curt answer, one she wished she had the courage to speak honestly. But she did not want to talk to her mother about this.

And so she changed the subject. She could bear it no longer. "I think we should tell Nate next."

She raised her gaze suddenly, so rapidly that Chuck did not have time to conceal the panic in his eyes. She shuddered softly, angered at his apparent lack of trust in her feelings towards him, and spat through clenched, gritted teeth, "I do not want him. I only mean that he should hear it from us before anyone else."

Chuck visibly relaxed, and for a moment, Blair felt like slapping him. She was tired of trying to prove herself, tired of demonstrating her lack of affection for Nate.

She snapped anxiously, "It would do you good, I think, to trust me."

Chuck looked at her inquisitively, wondering what she meant, and she shook her head impatiently. Men could be so dense sometimes. But she was used to it; Nate had been far worse. She muttered under her breath, hoping he'd hear her somehow, "If only he understood."

"Understood what?" Chuck drawled, trying desperately to conceal the curiosity burning in his voice.

Blair suppressed a smile and replied loftily, infusing her words with as much candor and affection as she could, "That Nate and I are over, and you and I have barely begun, and you're ruining the moment with all this talk of previous relationships."

"Oh."

The word hung in the air, piercing the silence. Suddenly it was as if nothing remained but Blair and Chuck. They were stripped of all outside forces, and the absence of lingering uncertainties was slightly gratifying.

Almost alarmed by the still of the silence, Blair blurted out, "I just want to be with you."

Chuck looked startled, but she barreled on, choosing to ignore the mischief dancing in his eyes. "I know this whole thing is problematic, what with Nate being your best friend and my mother being Eleanor Waldorf and our living on the Upper East Side and all that. But last night was beautiful, and I can't let go of it. I _won't_."

She let a single tear run its course, trembling on her eyelid, spilling out of her eye, rolling down her cheek. It felt like acceptance, somehow.

It was an embarrassing speech, she knew. He'd probably laugh at her for it later. But she was tired of suppressing her true feelings. He brought out so much more in her than that. She felt light when she was with him. She felt…happy. She had never thought it possible to feel like Serena, but when she was with Chuck, she did. She felt carefree and _alive_.

And if that meant giving up social status and perhaps her friendship with Nate, she would do it.

Chuck stared at her incredulously for a long moment, as if waiting for her to withdraw her statement, and she trembled in the heat of his gaze. She wondered if she had made a mistake in so blatantly stating her feelings. Perhaps she should have endeavored to seem more indifferent…

But then Chuck whispered, "Neither will I."

She breathed a sigh of relief, and suddenly his lips were on hers, and she was crying and laughing and his arms were around her and she knew somehow that everything that had come before this moment simply didn't matter. She sank into his embrace, smiling as her hands reached out to his and she pulled his shirt over his head. And she trembled in joy and anticipation as he untied the tie holding her robe together and took her again.

They made love that morning. It was the culmination of so many things, of trials and loves and heartaches. It was like the night before, but this time, it meant more. Because they knew now that they would survive this. Somehow.

And in the midst of the love, as the sun streamed in through the windows and Chuck's lean body pressed against Blair's, he whispered, "I love you."

And Blair looked at him, and she smiled and she laughed and she cried, because lately that was all she could do. And he pulled away and gazed into her eyes, and she brought her lips to his in the kind of kiss that only exists in movies. The kind of kiss that saves lives, because it has to.

And when Blair at last left his suite, when she threw on her clothes and flung open the door and called out a hasty goodbye, Chuck sat in dazed contentment on his bed and whispered after her one solitary phrase that he felt he had to repeat.

"I love you."

And this time, she heard him.

_tbc_


	11. Try, Try Again

**A/N: This update comes to you sooner than the last one, but still later than is appropriate. I apologize and hope to get the next update out to you sooner :( Also, the Document Uploader was messed up last night, or else I would have put it up then.**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. I love you all for being such faithful reviewers. Keep it up!**

* * *

Chapter 11

Try, Try Again

* * *

_If you take no risks, you will suffer no defeats.  
But if you take no risks, you win no victories.  
- Richard M. Nixon _

Blair strode home quickly, relishing the gentle spring air waving her tangled curls. It was a soft, warm breeze, and as her Christian Louboutin-clad feet padded against the pavement, she closed her eyes and hummed under her breath.

It was a content sound, one she wasn't sure she was comfortable making. But she felt lighter, as if the burden of problems that had haunted her for so long had eased some, and she supposed she should welcome the feeling. She knew, somehow, that such joy was fleeting. She might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

But no. She wouldn't think like that. She _couldn't_ think like that. Because she didn't really believe that this joy would dissipate. She knew it wouldn't. And besides, she didn't want an ephemeral, ghosted moment. She wanted forever. And he could give it to her.

It wasn't really strange that she didn't think his name, she thought idly. She supposed it was because he had always been one of the most important men in her life – perhaps he needed no introduction. But she suspected it was not that familiarity that led her to voice himself so easily. It was his complete occupation of her heart, mind, and soul, despite how cheesy that might be. She simply could not think about anyone else.

At least for the moment.

The thought was devilish, wicked, broken. She wished she hadn't thought it.

Blair shook herself free of the momentary hesitation and smiled brightly, prompting a few confused stares from the people passing her. But she didn't care. Perhaps she never had.

The paned windows of the penthouse she had occupied her entire life loomed before her after about ten minutes, and she felt a sudden swelling in her throat. But this time, it was not pleasant. There were no butterflies – although she certainly wished there were. No. No welcoming creatures announcing her eager anticipation. There was only cold, hard dread. And try as she might, she could not banish the nerves fluttering on her lips.

She didn't know how to tell her mother about Chuck. She wanted to, she did, but she was very much afraid of her imminent anger.

A small part of her acknowledged that she was more afraid of what her mother's harsh words would spur in _her_. Blair didn't want to throw up, not again. In the past, that had been her first reaction to any discomfort or disappointment. She was used to it. But with Chuck…she hadn't wanted to throw up for the past few days, and she would not let that go. She had learned to live, learned to survive, without needing the release of intake and outtake. And she would not let herself be the frail, powerless woman everyone had once known.

She was Blair Waldorf, an Upper East Side socialite, the Queen of Constance Billiard, the proud girlfriend of a certain Chuck Bass.

And goddamn it, she would not give that up.

Her resolve firm, her back straight, she haughtily mounted the steps leading into her home and cried loftily, "Mother, I'm home." She took care not to allow a note of uneasiness to slip into the controlled tones of her voice.

Apparently, it worked. Eleanor Waldorf greeted her only daughter with an air of slight boredom, as if she did not much care about her arrival. She nodded her head without looking up from her newspaper, glasses perched on her nose, and murmured from her seat on the couch, "Hello, darling."

Blair was almost overcome with sorrow at the word. There had been a moment the night before when Chuck had called her "darling," a moment when he had held her trembling body close to hers and let his lips glide along the edge of her jaw. His voice had been smooth and unhesitant, as it always was, but more tender than she had ever heard it. Tears had sprung to her eyes as he had cradled her head with his hands, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. It had been an infinitely precious moment, the voicing of the word, but the moment Blair experienced now was neither precious nor infinite. It was forced and distant, and less loving than seemed possible.

Blair struggled to quell the tears welling in her eyes, hanging her head as she whispered, "How was your morning?" The proper etiquette had to be observed, of course.

"Fine," Eleanor said shortly, raising her eyes as if to appraise Blair, "How was yours?"

Blair thought for a moment. She didn't want to reveal that she had spent the night in Chuck's suite – that was entirely unforgivable, at least by her mother's standards – but she didn't want to deny what had happened. That wasn't fair to Chuck. Nor her, she realized.

But Eleanor's voice had been defiant, suspicious, and Blair cowered in the heat of her gaze. She knew suddenly that her mother was not entirely ignorant of her tryst with Chuck.

But it hadn't really been a tryst, Blair reasoned; it had been a night spent in affection and promises, and her mother could not begrudge her that.

Could she?

Blair pursed her lips and chose her words carefully, trying to maintain her composure even as heat flooded her cheeks. "Fine. Lily was kind enough to make me breakfast." She hoped the casual reference to Serena's mother would convince her own mother that she had spent the night at her best friend's house. Perhaps it would also appease her some.

But Blair had forgotten whom she got her deceptive qualities from. As the silence stretched between mother and daughter, Eleanor simply held Blair's gaze, as if waiting for an admittance of guilt.

Finally, when she saw that Blair did not intend to reveal anything, she murmured softly, devastatingly, "I was under the impression that you and Miss Van der Woodsen were in a bit of a…fight."

Blair swallowed anxiously and let embarrassment seep into her eyes, wondering how she could possibly escape her mother's wrath now. Associating with a Bass was one thing, lying about it quite another. She could not reasonably accept Eleanor to forgive her.

She almost gave up, almost. But suddenly, she remembered what she had repeatedly told herself the night before, the night she had given every part of herself to the only man she trusted completely. She remembered the words she had whispered under her breath:

Blair Waldorf does not give up.

And so she gathered the courage Chuck had instilled in her and volunteered starkly, "Well, you know as well as I that best friends are quick to forgive."

Eleanor nodded, disapproval etched in her wrinkled features, and asked gently, "Darling –" There it was again, that cold, lifeless word that drew blood from Blair's cheeks – "Are you surer you can forgive her? You and Nate have been together for so long. How can this be acceptable?"

Blair hesitated for a moment. She wondered whether her mother was trying to trick her somehow. Did she only imagine the hint of disdain in Eleanor's voice? It was almost as if she _wanted_ to hurt her daughter, as if she fully intended to deprive her of any happiness, no matter how small.

Blair struggled to retain some aspect of sanity, saying slowly, "Nate and I were drifting apart long before this…incident. I'm sure you knew that." She smiled sweetly, because of course, Eleanor had no knowledge of that. How could she? She barely paid attention to her daughter.

Eleanor returned the smile, folding her newspaper neatly and questioning softly, "If you spent the night with Serena, then why did she come here last night looking for you?"

Blair thought frantically, searching for a way out of the predicament she had unknowingly put herself in. She wasn't entirely certain how she had managed to lose all her wits in one night. She should have known better than to use Serena as an excuse. Or, if she had thought ahead, she realized, she would have at least texted Serena to let her know her plan. They weren't friends now not exactly, but Serena would have covered for her. It was their classic give-and-take, really.

Blair mentally slapped herself for her error in judgement and answered easily, shrugging nonchalantly, "She was here? She didn't tell me about that…" Her voice trailed off, and she let her gaze fall on her mother with steely determination.

Eleanor sighed heavily and snapped, "Yes, she was here. And might I add, she failed to mention your 'plans' for last night."

"Perhaps she forgot," Blair replied airily, waving her hands in the air as she forced a laugh, "You know how she is."

And indeed she did. Which was why, Blair would realize later, Eleanor said, "Yes, I do. Therefore, I am led to the conclusion that you have not forgiven her yet."

"But I have," Blair contradicted, a little panicked now.

Eleanor stood up, striding across the room to meet her stricken daughter. She paused for a moment before crossing her arms and accosting Blair, "Then why was she here specifically to beg your forgiveness?"

Blair had no answer.

"And why, might I ask, did Lily tell me you were not in fact at her house when I called her last night?"

Blair, frustrated because of her mother's sudden interest in her affairs, interjected angrily, "We were at a party, of course."

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf," Eleanor announced imperiously, fury glinting in the usually emotionless depths of her eyes, "Do not lie to me."

Blair shook her head, pleading, "I'm not lying. I spent the night with Serena. But there's something I have to tell –"

Eleanor held up a hand to halt her daughter and discredited her obviously dishonest speech with five simple words.

"You were with Chuck Bass."

Perhaps when Blair was still dating Nate, those words would not have been quite so offensive. She had regarded Chuck as an insect: disgusting, intrusive, and completely unnecessary. But of course, things were different now. And she found that she couldn't quite accept the contempt lingering in her mother's voice as she voiced Chuck's name.

"I was," Blair did not try to deny it, not now. She was simply tired of pretending. She had spent the night with Chuck, and she was not ashamed of it. If her mother was, so be it. But she would not be.

Eleanore rose her eyebrows in disbelief and asked, genuinely puzzled, "Why? He's a _Bass_."

And just like that, Blair snapped. "Why?" she roared, shaking with the force of her anger, "Because he's not like Nate," Eleanor opened her mouth, but Blair held up a perfectly manicured hand in protest and continued, "Because he's not boring and he doesn't expect me to be perfect," She took a deep breath, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples before murmuring accusingly, "Unlike you."

Blair let her eyes flutter open just in time to see her mother reel back in shock. But she could not bring herself to care. There were things she had to say to Eleanor, things she didn't relish saying but knew somehow she must voice. And so she closed her eyes again and murmured, "I came here meaning to tell you about him, but when I saw you I knew you wouldn't accept it. So I lied."

Eleanor gritted her teeth, and Blair's eyes fell to her clenched fists. She suspected her mother had not expected such a tirade, not from _her_ daughter. Perhaps someone else's, Blair mused lightly.

She resisted the urge to laugh, though, whispering, "I know you can't understand. But try to accept it, at least." She knew she was asking a lot of her mother, a woman who resisted change just as much as she did. But she could no longer hide her feelings for Chuck. She simply could not bear it.

Eleanor shook her head adamantly and protested, "You will ruin this family."

Blair felt indignance seep into her veins, but she forced herself to remain calm. She did not want to scream at her mother, at least not if she could help it. She had come too far to allow this to get in her way. And so she only replied, shaking her head gently, "No, I don't think I will."

Eleanor shook her head in reply and merely muttered, "Look at this press release."

Blair blinked in confusion, watching as her mother turned around and strode towards the couch, picking up the newspaper she had so easily discarded. Blair's eyes narrowed as she tried to discern who exactly the picture on Page Six was of.

And then she saw. It was a picture of her and Chuck. Together. In Victrola. Surrounded by burlesque dancers.

She felt heat flood her cheeks as her mortification struggled to disguise itself. She wasn't exactly sure what she was supposed to say or do. It wasn't so much that there was now indelible proof that she had spent the night with Chuck; her mother had known she was lieing the entire time. It was more that now the entire Upper East Side knew about it. And Blair knew that was the final straw.

Eleanor shoved the newspaper in her daughter's face and grunted angrily, "Blair Cornelia Waldorf, I have never been more disappointed in you in my life."

And with that, she swiveled on one heel and strode out of the room, leaving Blair speechless.

She was angry, and annoyed, and also, somehow, sadder than she had been in a long time. She hadn't wanted everyone to find out like this. She had wanted to gradually inform her inner circle about her new relationship – she almost giggled to herself, excited at the prospect of calling Chuck her "boyfriend" at last. But now, she would have to face rumors and gossip. She knew that the Upper East Siders would assume that she had been cheating on Nate with Chuck. Everything she had fought so hard to obtain would soon crumble all around her.

But she loved Chuck. She did. Nothing else mattered.

As she crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from foot, she tried to control the panic swelling in her throat. She meant to fight the crippling helplessness that threatened to consume her, but before the pain fully set in, she sank to the floor and pressed her cheek against the cool tile. The soft marble was comfortingly curved to the contours of her skin.

She quickly lost consciousness.

* * * * *

Chuck lay in his now-empty bed for longer than really necessary, stretching his arms above his head and breathing in the tantalizingly _Blair_ smell that lingered on his pillows. He already missed her, despite her having left only a few minutes ago.

He felt light and fresh, and he wasn't afraid to succumb to the feeling. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this – if ever.

But he supposed Blair would make him feel that way for a as long as he would let her.

Around noon, he rolled out of bed with some trepidation, wishing he didn't have to abandon the warm haven quite so soon. It smelled so like her, all vanilla and spices cluttering in his noise…he didn't have much desire to escape that pleasantly complicated aroma. But he did want to go see Blair, if only to help her face her mother. He knew it wouldn't be easy for her to break Eleanor's every expectation. He knew it wouldn't be easy, and for the first time in his life, he wanted to be there for someone. He wanted to be there for her.

And so he threw on the first clothes he could find and strode out the door, jumping into his limo with more fervor than the moment probably deserved.

The plush black leather was smooth and dark against his Armani three-piece suit, and he leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, trying to collect himself. He didn't want to be a mess when he arrived at Blair's apartment.

Of course, sooner or later, his luck ran out. He was used to it by now, but when it came to Blair, he had always suspected that he was a better person with her.

And then he saw the picture.

As he ran his hand down the seat, stretching and probing the silky darkness, his flesh collided with a flimsy piece of paper. He curiously let his fingers close around the inky grey paper and held it to his face, squinting in a futile effort to make out the words on the page. He knew he should have read the newspaper before he left.

"Lights." He barked angrily to his driver, a sinking feeling slowly gathering in the pit of his stomach. He felt like something terrible was about to happen.

The overhead light flickered on, and he gasped in shock at the picture before him, his eyes fluttering closed of his own volition. He could scarcely believe what he saw. It was a picture of him and Blair from the night before, a picture that could condemn them both. They had not told anyone yet about their somewhat clandestine relationship…

He wondered if Blair had seen the picture yet. She must have – her mother would have shown it to her.

And that scared him.

"Drive faster," he commanded irritably, a note of frustration seeping into his voice. He didn't know what state he would find Blair in when he reached her penthouse. She had never been adept at coping with public humiliation. And this would involve her mother.

He drummed his fingers on his knees nervously as the limo sped dangerously through the crowded Manhattan streets, tires screeching, horns honking, fingers flipping. He shook his head from side to side, trying in vain to collect himself. He didn't want Blair to see him like this; it would only entreat her to further panic.

Besides, it wasdn't like he was ashamed of the picture. In fact, he was quite glad the newspaper had printed it. It may have been the first photograph ever taken of him that did not involve naked women. Granted, there were burlesque dancers surrounding him, but the focus of the picture was a pale, virginal – although, no longer, he thought wickedly – Blair.

But he knew how she must be feeling right now, and when the limo pulled up next to her penthouse, he leaped out, flinging the door shut, and bounded up the stairs with an agility that surprised and thrilled him. He had never felt so determined.

The ride in the elevator was hopelessly long. Perhaps too long, he feared. Who knew what she could be doing?

Suddenly, it dawned on him that she was probably in the bathroom right now, keeling over and emptying her stomach of the light breakfast she had consumed with him that very morning. The thought made him feel a little lightheaded, and he struggled to catch his breath as the yellow buttons beeped one by one.

When the doors slid open, he took off, taking the gliding stairs two at a time, running by a shocked Dorota and barely noticing that Eleanor and Blair wwere nowhere to be found.

Of course, he should have cast his eyes toward the marble floor, but he was far too busy for that.

He reached Blair's bedroom door and paused for a moment, feeling unsure for the first time that morning. Blair had not asked him to come support her. She had not texted him to let him know she had seen the press release. Perhaps she did not want him to see her. Perhaps the picture had changed her mind, had made her finally realize the awful, painful truth: she was a Waldorf and could not associate with a Bass.

But Chuck didn't allow himself to think that – not for longer than a moment, anyway. Whether Blair wanted him there or not, he would not abandon her. He would not be another Nate, blind to her problems. He would do better.

But still, he eased open her door cautiously, turning the silver doorknob silently and balancing on the balls of his feet. His eyes anxiously swept the light blue walls for signs that she had escaped into the bathroom, but he found none. Her robe was still on its designated hook, her bright blue heels nowhere in sight. He spotted his gray silk tie dangling on her bedpost and his checkered scarf carelessly wrapped around her open window, and he smiled a little, pleased. At least signs of him still remained.

But she herself was woefully absent.

She must be in the bathroom then, he thought to himself. He wished he hadn't grown accustomed to this ritual by now, but it felt oddly familiar. He had done this so many times. He was only one of the Non-Judging – yeah right, he thought sardonically – Breakfast Club who had ever bothered to check on the Queen B when she faltered like this.

He was suddenly disgusted with both Nate and Serena. Not for betraying Blair in the cruelest way possible – he was, after all, a selfish man, and that tryst had brought Blair to him. But for never helping her through her episodes. He couldn't believe they had been so callous.

But he banished those thoughts. None of that mattered anymore.

With a heavy heart, he glided across Blair's bedroom and stood before her bathroom door, hesitating slightly. He wasn't sure what to say to her. He knew the sight of him might repulse her entirely.

He paused for a moment, then knocked on her door quickly, before he lost his nerve. There was no answer, and he sighed. The eerie silence was beginning to bother him a bit.

He knocked again, this time whispering, "Blair, it's me."

Still no answer. Shaking his head, he clarified, "It's Chuck."

He felt a little stupid when he was met with silence. She either didn't want to see him or wasn't in there, and, egotistical as he was, he knew it must be the latter. She had never resisted him before, not when it was like this.

But in a moment of self-doubt, he flung open the door, not quite expecting to see her huddled on the floor but also not able to stop himself.

He sighed in relief when he saw that the room was empty and the toilet bowl suspiciously clean – Dortoa must have cleaned it. He was glad Blair had not been in there, glad she had not rejected him. He wasn't sure how he would have handled that. He was also, he realized, extremely grateful that Blair had not thrown up. He didn't want that life for her. Not if he could help it.

But he didn't know where Blair could be, if not her bathroom. The kitchen, perhaps? The foyer? Certainly not Serena's house, he concluded. And where else could she have gone?

He opted to ask Dorota. That was always a safe bet.

He lanked back down the stairs more slowly this time, his gait tired and uncertain.

And then he saw her.

There she was, lying on the floor next to the stairs, hugging her knees to her chest, her eyes tightly closed. Her cheek was pressed against the marble, as if to allay the fever ripping through her body, and her headband was hanging loosely from her sweat-matted curls. All this he could see from his perch.

But it wasn't nearly enough to quench his sudden desire to hold her. He flew down the stairs now, screeching to a stop in front of his beloved and crouching on the ground next to her, his eyes wild with panic. He brushed the hair off her shoulder, expecting her to open her eyes and speak his name with venom lacing her voice.

But she said nothing. It didn't worry him too much; she was probably just trying to get her bearings, trying to adjust to the idea of Chuck being there. He was sure she was awake, sure that at any moment, she would spring out of his grip and cross her arms defensively. It was what she had always done.

But the moments passed, and she did not awake.

A little more frantic now, Chuck grasped Blair's shoulders and shook her gently, dropping a kiss on her forehead. He glanced down at her pale skin, noting the beads of sweat gathering by her hairline and the blue veins bulging through her eyelids. He looked down at her curled body, its neat curves. She looked skinnier than usual. Too skinny.

Had the time come? Had she finally pushed her body past its limits?

No. He couldn't think like that. She was his Blair, and she had probably just fainted. There was no way this was serious.

After another long moment, he heard the scurrying of feet behind him, and he swiveled his head, snarling at Dorota, "Call 911." The words bled on his tongue as the plump woman nodded with wide eyes, her round cheeks seeming to grimace as she padded into the kitchen with worry in her step.

Chuck bent his head over Blair's still form and clutched her to his chest, whispering, "Blair, wake up. Come on."

She gave no answer, but he thought he felt her fingers squeeze his, and he shook her again, joyously exclaiming, "Waldorf! Earth to Waldorf!" It was the closest he could come to terms of endearment. The use of the word "darling" seemed so inappropriate now, when the woman he had spoken them to only hours ago lay prostrate in his arms. He wondered briefly if that was supposed to be ironic. Was this his punishment?

Blair gave no answer, and he sighed. He turned his attention to the task at hand, tracing her slender wrist with his fingers, trying to find a pulse, faint as it might be.

But the moments dragged on, and still she did not open her eyes. He found that even kissing her, even dragging his lips along the edge of her jaw, even whispering sweet words in her ear…even those uncharacteristically gentle gestures did nothing. She still remained asleep, or unconscious, or…

No. He did not allow himself to think that. She was not dead.

Dorota yelped from the kitchen, "I call 911!"

Chuck sighed in relief and kissed Blair's cheek reverently, murmuring against her skin, "You're going to be okay. You are."

There was no answer.

_tbc_


	12. What We Are

**A/N: I am slowly but surely getting better at updating. I have spring break this week, so the next update should be even faster. Yay for that!**

**The last chapter got an unexpectedly big amount of reviews. So thank you to all who reviewed - it means so much to me and i hope you'll all continue offering feedback.**

**Anyways, thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The song lyrics throughout the chapter are Hear You Me (May Angels Lead You In) by Jimmy Eat World.**

* * *

Chapter 12

What We Are

* * *

_There's no one in town I know  
You gave us someplace to go  
I never said thank you for that  
I thought I might get one more chance_

Serena Van der Woodsen didn't care about many things in life. She didn't care about her grades or what her parents thought of her or how sleazy the guys she slept with were. But she cared about Blair.

And so when Eleanor called her, frantically yelling about hospitals and fainting and unconsciousness, Serena did not hesitate. Not even for a moment. Because despite what had happened between her and Blair in the past few days, the dark-eyed brunette was still her best friend, still the only girl – only person, even – who truly understood her. And she wouldn't give that up.

Blair might not want to see her, of course. But Serena didn't care.

She hailed a cab as quickly as she could, standing up straight, shaking out her long blond waves with one slender finger in a calculated attempt to catch the eyes of the drivers whistling past her. Finally, a yellow cab screeched to a stop in front of her, and the driver, a heavyset Latino male with overgrown eyebrows and sparkling white teeth, looked her up and down leeringly. She shook her head disdainfully and flung open the cab door, swallowing hard as she struggled to whisper, "Take me to Memorial Hospital."

"Whatever you want, baby," the creepy driver muttered under his breath. Serena cringed, for once not grateful for the attention.

The cab weaved through the busy Manhattan streets at last, and Serena let out a relieved sigh that sounded more like a heave. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, enjoying the taste of rust and salt on her tongue. She wondered fleetingly what happened to those poor souls who left this earth earlier than expected. Was there a different afterlife for all those people whose lives ended when they were young and full of promise, some chance for atonement and redemption?

She hoped so. She didn't believe that Blair was dead, but it gave her some small comfort to know that heaven awaited her best friend. If, indeed, the great Blair Waldorf could ever really die.

The cabbie began to blabber in Serena's ear, asking for her number, complimenting her on her show of skin, leaning in to smell the patchouli oil clinging to her hair. But she only shook her head gently and let the waves of pain carry her away. She didn't want to think about what might have happened to Blair, but accepting it was easier than fighting the suddenly crippling weight on her chest.

After a few long, terribly frightening moments, the cab pulled up alongside the hospital, and Serena sprung out the door, throwing a couple twenties through the window in her haste. The cabbie yelled something after her, but she paid no heed. She only had one purpose, one word running through her usually capricious mind:

Blair.

The hospital entrance's revolving doors felt painfully slow as she pushed on them, humming under her breath as she struggled to maintain her composure. She prided herself on being easygoing, unlike Blair, but she couldn't deny that this was really messing her up.

Well, she thought, this _is _Blair we're talking about. Her unconsciousness definitely warranted some panic, especially since Serena had been the one to betray her in the first place.

But Serena didn't linger too long on that thought; there was too much else to worry about. She ran through the doors with a nervous gait that surprised her, wringing her arms in despair as her eyes flitted around the room. But she didn't stop to ask the nurses in the ER where Blair Waldorf was – she already knew. Chuck had just texted her with the room number. She wondered briefly why _Chuck_, of all people, knew where the reigning Queen B was being treated. But she disregarded that thought. There would be time to worry about that later. When things were calmer.

As she raced up the crowded stairs in her Balenciaga brown leather boots, tears welled in her round, navy blue eyes and cascaded down her makeup-free cheeks. She raised a hand to wipe the infuriating moisture away, but stopped herself, realizing that these were not the last tears she would shed. She couldn't control this reaction, and besides, did she really want to?

No, she didn't, she realized. She didn't want to be comforted. She didn't want reassuring words and tight-lipped smiles designed to inspire hope and banish fear. She wanted pain. Raw, broken pain. She _wanted_ her heart to break.

Because she deserved it.

_What would you think of me now?  
So lucky, so strong, so proud  
I never said thank you for that _

She had hurt Blair, hurt her so deeply that she wasn't sure either of them would ever recover. She had taken Nate from her. She knew Blair would never forgive her. Of course, Serena would still try – she was nothing if not persistent – but she knew somehow that the effort was fruitless.

She approached the white door she was looking for at last, glaring at those stupid red numbers, and inhaled sharply to calm herself. And before she could stop to think about what she was doing, she firmly grasped the doorknob and slinked into the white hospital room.

It was quiet – too quiet, Serena mused – and for a moment, she wondered if she had gone to the right room. But then she saw Blair, dear, dark, conniving Blair, Blair lying on the bed, tucked under the covers. She saw her oldest friend, and something akin to agony flickered in her eyes. The fault line in her perfectly sculpted chest rippled with remembrance and regret, and she swayed on her feet. She clutched her heart in a vain attempt to soothe the burning, the fire seeping through her veins. But even as she closed her eyes, desperate to banish the sight lingering in the darkness, she could not escape it.

Because Blair, the Blair who ruined girls' reputations daily and whose highest goal was acceptance to Yale…that Blair was gone now. And in her place was a frail, skinny girl who was almost lost in the pristinely white covers clinging to her body.

Serena gulped, tracing the sheen of sweat lining Blair's forehead with a growing sense of unease. She looked at her best friend's eyelids, the bulging veins coupled with the light lavender color. She looked at her limp curls, scattered across the fluffed pillow supporting her lolling head. She looked at the one foot peaking out of the sheets, pale and arched. She looked at the silver necklace nestled at the base of her throat. She looked at Blair, looked at her lying there, and quickly turned away, ready to leave.

But someone cleared their throat just as Serena's hair flew through the air, and her gaze flew to the corner of the room, where…Chuck Bass sat.

Chuck Bass. Serena shook her head in unconcealed wonder, blinking frantically. Maybe she was seeing things, she ventured. But no. Chuck Bass really _was _sitting in a chair by Blair's bedside. He was even holding her hand.

Serena almost scoffed at the foreign sight, but restrained herself, instead asking quizzically, "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Chuck shook his head, not looking at the statuesque blonde accosting him. He didn't really care about Serena's presence. It didn't matter to him whether she and Blair were ever friends again. All that mattered was that the unmoving beauty before him awoke. He sighed, his eyes lingering on the curve of Blair's deathly pale cheek, and said nothing in response to Serena's indignant query.

In the silence that followed, Serena shifted her weight from foot to foot, suddenly feeling awkward. She shouldn't, really; she was Blair's best friend. If anyone should be here, she should. But somehow…as she looked at Chuck, she realized that maybe he belonged by Blair's side more than she ever could.

She wasn't sure why, though. She had never known Chuck and Blair to be anything but playful enemies – their only connection was through Nate, and, to a certain extent, Serena herself. Sure, they were friends, but had it ever really extended beyond that?

Apparently, it had.

And Serena wasn't one to let such questionable circumstances as those deter her. She led life through her emotions, and she felt certain that Chuck cared about Blair more than either one of them was willing to admit. And that was enough for her.

She shook her head slightly, though, her blond waves tumbling across her back as she moved, and stared at Chuck for a long moment. She was curious about when this…thing between Chuck and Blair had developed. But the tear she suddenly saw, a drop of moisture sparkling in his eye, caught her by surprise, and she stumbled backward. His pain suddenly seemed so private, so intense and unimaginable. Why he was in pain she didn't _exactly _know, but that one tear shivering on his fluttering eyelid broke something in Serena.

And she turned around and fled the room, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, because she realized that she had never cared about Nate the way Chuck so obviously cared about Blair. She had ruined her and Blair's precious, lifelong friendship for a guy she had only ever felt attracted to. Everyone knows the girl code, she reprimanded herself. Feelings must be _legitimate _if they are acted on, if at all.

Serena mentally cursed herself for being such an idiot.

The overwhelmingly abrupt and intense pain ripped through her, and she gasped for air as she closed her eyes and searched for some sliver of light. But there was only darkness, of course.

_May angels lead you in  
Hear you me my friends  
__On sleepless roads the sleepless go  
_ _May angels lead you in_

But no. She was Serena Van der Woodsen. She was light and laughter, and a socialite. Most importantly, she was Blair Waldorf's best friend. She would not give in like this.

She heard, somehow, Chuck utter one soft plea, "Don't."

She thought she had never heard such a desolate word. It was uttered so quietly…she strode back in that room without a second thought.

"Chuck," she whispered, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered from the sudden cold. The light April air swept through the room, the open window clattering a little, and she breathed in slowly. She let her eyes flutter close, because the weight of her eyelids was simply too much to bear. And she waited for Chuck to answer her, waited for tears to fall down his hollowed cheeks, waited for any reaction at all.

But he only turned his head and fixed her with a solemn gaze, strange fear lurking in his eyes. Serena wondered why he was so afraid. Could Blair be in real danger?

She had to know. She had to know, because she had to save her and Blair's friendship. She needed to know how much time she had to resolve their tangled web of problems.

Because she remembered the way it used to be. She remembered lying on Blair's perfectly made bed, watching Audrey Hepburn movies and laughing as they said the lines along with the characters. She remembered taking long shopping trips along Fifth Avenue, breaking only for coffee, and often being offered modeling contracts. And she remembered the many times she had cried in Blair's smooth, warm arms, the times she had woken up in her best friend's bed with a pounding headache and a hazy memory.

But she remembered the bad stuff more easily. She remembered everything that had happened that same week, the moment Blair had spun around and gazed unblinkingly into Serena's eyes, as if she was searching for reason. Serena remembered how Blair had climbed into that black limo without saying a word and had just driven away, because to speak at all hurt too much. She remembered her own awkward apology and Blair's gracious almost-forgiveness.

She remembered all that, and suddenly, she wanted to scream.

But Chuck saved her, if only for a moment. "The doctors say she'll be okay."

Serena let out a relieved sigh and breathed, tears welling in her eyes, "Really?"

Chuck only nodded, whispering, "You should talk to Eleanor."

And with that, Chuck Bass dismissed Serena. She didn't mind, really. She sensed Chuck needed to be alone with Blair. Besides, he and Blair both deserved happiness. Serena herself had taken Blair's sole source of joy away from her. She couldn't begrudge her this. She wouldn't.

Serena was proud of herself for this conclusion, but soon faltered when she realized she had no business being gracious. She had done a horrible thing in deceiving Blair, and she deserved nothing.

She nodded to Chuck and murmured, "I'm glad you're here." She paused for a moment, shrugging her blond waves off her shoulder as a tear slipped from her eye. "Blair deserves someone like you."

A puzzled smirk curved the corners of Chuck's mouth, but he only shook his head from side to side, as if in acknowledgement. He seemed resigned to his fate, but also glad to be by Blair's side. Serena supposed that was to be expected. She almost doubted Chuck, doubted his ability to really care about anyone but himself. But she wasn't above forgiving him for his past transgressions.

Oh, wait. What was she talking about? This was Chuck Bass, playboy, heir to a billion-dollar corporation, and all-around sleazebag. She didn't trust him. Especially not with Blair.

She snapped, "Don't try anything with her."

Chuck's face didn't even register surprise. He simply smiled wanly and nodded, blinking incessantly as he sat up a little and leaned over Blair's bed. Serena craned her neck to see what he was doing, unable to stop herself from reaching to glimpse Chuck's more sensitive side, if it even existed.

She watched in astonishment as Chuck stroked Blair's cheek with one hand and kissed her on the forehead tenderly. Serena reached up to touch her own forehead longingly. She had never seen a more beautiful moment.

She sighed heavily and whispered, "I'll leave now."

Chuck said nothing, only nodding minutely. Serena shook her head and left the room, closing the door behind her. She strode down the hallway quickly, wondering where Blair's family – what was left of it – might be. She headed towards the staircase when no one magically appeared before her. She sighed and tried to hide her disappointment at Eleanor Waldorf's absence. She should be used to it by now.

But a soft hand falling on her shoulder shocked her, and she stumbled backward. She spun around angrily, her bright blue eyes flashing. She almost muttered a venomous rebuke, but winced when she realized it was only Eleanor.

Serena winced again when she realized she had not referred to her in her mind as Blair's mother. Because in reality, Serena had never first thought of Eleanor as Blair's mother, for she had never been directly that, actually. She had cared too little about Blair to be considered her mother. Dorota did that job.

Serena flinched at the coldness in Eleanor Waldorf's eyes. They were the exact same color Blair's were, chocolate brown, but they were remiss of any warmth, any affection. The woman standing before Serena was nothing like Blair.

Serena stepped back slightly and addressed the older woman, "Mrs. Waldorf."

Eleanor nodded stiffly. "Serena."

They stared levelly at each other for a long moment, tension simmering in the stifling air. Serena didn't know how to ask Eleanor what was wrong with Blair. It had been so long since the best friend and mother had had a real conversation.

Finally, Eleanor dropped her eyes and whispered, the pain in her voice astonishing Serena, "The doctors don't really know what's wrong."

Serena nodded and waited for Eleanor to say more, anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to another. But the older woman remained silent, her eyes boring into Serena's with an intensity that unnerved them both. At last, Eleanor averted her eyes and whispered, "They say it has something to do with her…stress-induced regurgitation."

Serena could only nod stupidly as the older, less complicated, less appealing Waldorf continued, lifting her gaze to meet the younger girl's sorrowful navy eyes, "Of course, I never guessed," she trailed off, and Serena struggled to control her anger. She wanted Eleanor to call it what it was: bulimia.

Serena cringed. Blair had been making herself throw up for as long as she could remember, but Serena had ignored it, because the very thought of it twisted her stomach. She had always felt a little guilty about not doing anything about it, but it was just too hard. She had enough going on. Maybe it was selfish – she could admit that readily – but it was the truth. Sometimes it was painful, and sometimes it was more difficult than was probably necessary, but it worked for her.

Serena didn't want to think about what kind of person that made her.

_So what would you think of me now?  
So lucky, so strong, so proud  
I never said thank you for that  
Now I'll never have a chance _

She smiled a little sadly and asked Eleanor, "Is she going to be okay?"

Eleanor winced and shook her head slowly, murmuring, "They're really not sure. Apparently this…stress-induced regurgitation has interfered with her natural ability to digest."

Serena clenched her fists and spat through gritted teeth, "But why now?"

Confusion flooded Eleanor's eyes, and she asked, "What exactly do you mean? The doctors implied that Blair consumed rancid chicken and then threw it up. _That_ was what caused this…incident."

Serena shook her head and crossed her arms over her ample chest, for once grateful for her towering height. She hesitated a little before contradicting Eleanor, "Your daughter has had _bulimia_ since she was twelve. And obviously, you haven't been paying enough attention to her to notice."

Serena was a bit surprised at her own audacity, but also a little proud. She should have done something about Blair's condition long ago. She was ashamed that she hadn't.

Eleanor crossed her arms, a mirror image of Serena's defensive stance, and argued, "I think I would know if my only daughter had stress-induced regurgitation. This is an isolated incident, I am sure."

Serena couldn't contain herself any longer. She half-yelled, almost trembling with ill-concealed fervor, "It is not stress-induced regurgitation! It is _bulimia_. And maybe if you called it that, Blair wouldn't be in a drug-induced coma."

Such venom laced Serena's voice that Eleanor reeled back as if she had been struck. She nodded stiffly and smiled, a little awkwardly, a little sadly. Her hands flew to her slightly lined face, and she gasped in horror. "I never meant for this to happen."

Serena doubted that, really. But her natural instinct for grace and kindness flooded her senses, and she fought the urge to forgive the broken, cold woman before her. Eleanor was most of the reason Blair had begun making herself throw up in the first place – Serena and Nate being the rest of the reason – and Serena couldn't forgive her for that. She couldn't even forgive herself, although she suspected that was much harder anyway.

"Of course not," Serena gently reprimanded, breathing in deeply as she fixed Eleanor with a steely gaze, "But now I'm going to go talk to the doctors."

Serena nodded slightly, as if to accentuate her offhanded words, and the woman before her looked at her for a long moment, murmuring, "Goodbye now, Serena."

Serena didn't have the strength – or courage – to whisper a reply. She heard her own game, and a torrent of doubt and guilt pulsed through her bruised heart. She didn't really notice when Eleanor grazed her cheek with her cold lips and swiftly walked away, her head held high, her body trembling with the effort. But she did notice that the sun was rising higher outside the paned windows, and she noticed that a doctor clothed in a white jacket, a stethoscope hanging haphazardly around his neck, was walking in her direction.

Serena stiffened when said doctor approached her and asked gently, "Are you Ms. Waldorf's relative?"

Serena answered easily, "I'm her sister."

And how true that was.

The doctor seemed skeptical, then eyed Serena's impressively sharp Galliano stilettos and nodded. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a thick stack of files with Blair's full name written in bold, clear letters. He sighed a little, furrowing his eyebrows worriedly, and his features twisted into that expression Serena knew so well, the expression parents always had when they announced divorces and boyfriends always had when they were about to break up with you. It was the expression of the bearer of bad news.

Serena steeled herself for the worst, but the doctor only said, "Ms. Waldorf is not doing well. Her vitals are weak, and she's not responding to treatment."

"What kind of treatment?"

"Well," the doctor began, rubbing his eyes tiredly, "Ms. Waldorf's bulimia has caused some…complications, if you will. She has thrown up so many times over the last few years, it seems, that she has begun to regurgitate her digestive juices."

Serena shook her head, not bothering to hide her confusion – she had barely passed freshman Bio. "English, please."

The doctor broke into a soft smile, and a sudden sadness gripped Serena. He looked so young. She couldn't imagine how difficult it must be for him to deliver this kind of news. She had always thought that trips to the hospital were not commonplace, obviously. The hospital seemed almost…isolated from the rest of the society. It was weird and hard to think about the people who worked at hospitals and dealt with anorexia and car crashes and cancer every day.

Serena wanted to ask the doctor how he did it, how he coped with the endless agony of not knowing whether someone would live or die. But she resisted.

In the past, before everything that went down with Blair and Nate, she probably would have engaged the doctor in a serious conversation about the meaning of life. But now, all that mattered to her was whether her best friend would make it through this.

The doctor took a deep breath and clarified, "Ms. Waldorf has begun throwing up what's in her stomach."

Serena let out a huff of disgust and asked, "How can you fix that?"

The doctor shook his head, leafing through Blair's file with practiced nonchalance, and replied uneasily, "She needs to eat more food, to start. Her body is not getting the proper nutrients she needs to flourish and survive."

"It's kind of like anorexia in that respect, then," Serena countered absently, peering at the doctor's nametag. Sean Reilly. He must have a family – a beautiful wife, perhaps, and a young daughter. They were probably sitting at home waiting for him. Serena's heart ached at the thought. She felt quite remorseful suddenly, because she realized that she wanted that. She didn't want drunken hook-ups night after night. She didn't want to have to piece the broken shards of her life back together every other week. She wanted peace, and safety, and comfort.

Maybe that was all Blair had wanted too. And Serena had taken it away from her.

_May angels lead you in  
Hear you me my friends  
On sleepless roads the sleepless go  
May angels lead you in _

The doctor nodded slightly, murmuring, "It is. Ms. Waldorf's bulimia has caused her digestive system to dysfunction. She will need to spend a few days in the hospital. We'll have to monitor her progress carefully."

Serena shook her head, still a little shocked, and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes as she whispered, "But will she be okay?" She found that was all that really mattered.

The doctor sighed, "We won't know until her tests come back."

"And when will that be?" Serena almost snapped, but refrained. She was sure Dr. Reilly was doing all he could to save her best friend. There was no reason to be angry with him – only at herself.

"In a few hours, I suppose," Dr. Reilly shrugged, his warm brown eyes sympathetic. "She's rather lucky, though. Her friend found her quickly."

"Her friend?" Serena was confused again. That seemed to be happening a lot lately. She wondered why, then realized it was probably Blair's absence from her life. Blair had always helped Serena understand life itself. Without her, it was hard to really function.

"Yes," Dr. Reilly whispered slowly, searching Serena's face for visible signs of insanity, "Mr. Bass?"

"Oh."

The word hung in the air as Serena considered this new piece of information. She should have come to this conclusion much earlier, really. Obviously, Chuck had been the one to find Blair. It all made sense. He had been the one who had told Serena what room Blair was in, and he had been in Blair's room when Serena had visited her.

He had found her. He had saved her.

_May angels lead you in  
Hear you me my friends  
On sleepless roads the sleepless go  
May angels lead you in _

Serena sighed, whispering brokenly, "Will you let me know when there's news?"

The doctor nodded, sorrow flooding his eyes. "Of course." He turned to walk away, his white lab coat billowing behind him.

Serena watched as he strode down the long hallway. Just before he disappeared around the corner, she yelled after him, "Dr. Reilly!"

He spun around, anxiety twisting his features, and she smiled a little. "Thank you."

He nodded, and Serena thought he might have even blushed. As soon as he was out of sight, she turned around and walked in the other direction, heading toward Blair's room. She needed to apologize to Chuck for her harsh judgement, and more importantly, she needed to be with Blair.

Blair was her best friend. She knew that if she didn't go see her right now, she would lie awake in bed that night, willing her eyelids to close, hoping her dreams would take her to a different place, a better place. Then suddenly, she knew, she would remember the times they had made cookies together – or failed at making cookies together, she thought ruefully – or the gossip they traded back and forth as if it were the most important thing in their lives. She knew she would remember Blair's smile and her brown eyes. She knew she would remember their friendship, and then she would not be able to succumb to sleep.

It would simply hurt too much.

And so Serena walked to Blair's room and tore right in there, ready to face her demons once and for all.

Chuck was in the same place he had been a half hour ago, and Serena eyed him uncomfortably, unsure what to say exactly.

But finally, the words fluttered on her tongue.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," Serena murmured, shaking her head, "I didn't know you were the one who -"

"It's fine," Chuck interjected gruffly.

Serena nodded, hesitating a little before whispering, "Can I just have a minute with her?"

Chuck seemed reluctant – as he should be – but only nodded. He stood up slowly, taking care not to jostle Blair with any sudden movement, and gently extracted his hand from hers. He leaned over her and whispered something in her ear. Serena turned her head, wanting to give the two some measure of privacy. After a long moment, she turned back, just in time to see Chuck brush Blair's forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, with his lips. She thought she saw a tear slide down Chuck's cheek, but she couldn't be sure.

She gulped, moisture welling in her eyes, and murmured, "Thank you."

Chuck brushed past her without a word.

Serena heard the door softly click, and she smiled a little, grateful for the sudden quiet. She strode over to her best friend' bedside and perched herself in the chair, reaching for Blair's hand.

_And if you were with me tonight,  
I'd sing to you just one more time  
A song for a heart so big  
God wouldn't let it live _

She played with the ruby ring on Blair's finger for a long moment before trying to explain herself. "I don't know what happened to us." It was quiet, broken. But it was a start. "I don't know who I've become. I don't know why I did it."

And she didn't. Because there was so much about her and Nate's history she regretted. She realized she didn't really love him anymore, if she ever had. She didn't want him either. She didn't want him, didn't want to kiss those pouty lips and run her fingers through those perfectly spiked, sun-streaked locks. She just wanted to forget about what had happened between them.

But that wasn't going to happen.

And so she whispered, "I guess I just wanted what you had." It took courage to admit that, and she suspected that Blair couldn't even hear her. But if only for her own sake, she had to explain. "And maybe I thought I actually cared about Nate. But I didn't. And I don't."

She closed her eyes, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her free hand. "What we did was a mistake. A mistake I don't expect you to forgive me for."

And Serena didn't expect Blair to forgive her. Not in this lifetime.

"But I want you to know…" Her voice trailed off as she struggled to get the words out.

"I'm so sorry, B," Serena whispered, tears cascading down her cheeks as she watched the slow rise and fall of Blair's weak chest. She wasn't sure if Blair could survive this. And it was all her fault.

But as she sat there, holding Blair's hand, shaking with the silent force of tears, eyes fixed on her best friend's pale eyelids, she begun to hope again. She begun to realize that maybe things really would be okay, that maybe Blair would wake up, that maybe she would forgive Serena, that maybe Nate would leave once and for all so he never got between them again. Serena begun to have a little faith. Because as her tears fell on her and Blair's entwined hands, something happened.

Blair squeezed her hand.

_May angels lead you in  
May angels lead you in _

_tbc_


	13. The Soul is Dead that Slumbers

**A/N: This update took me about a week, which is just about right, so I'm happy about that. In case any of you are wondering where this story is going, don't worry; I have it all planned out. It'll probably be between seventeen and twenty chapters.**

**Anyways, here it is. Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Henry Wadsworth Longsfellow.**

* * *

Chapter 13

The Soul is Dead that Slumbers

* * *

_Memory is a tenuous thing,  
like a rainbow's end  
or a camera with a failing lens.  
Sometimes my focus  
is sharp, every detail  
clear as the splashes  
of ice, fringing the eaves;  
other times it is a hazy  
field of frost, like the meadow  
outside my window.  
- Impulse by Ellen Hopkins_

Blair hovered in the space between life and death, that never-ending gray blur. She could almost hear the voices of her loved ones calling out to her as she wavered and fell, but that sense was gone before she took her next breath. She didn't know exactly when she succumbed to the darkness, but the last thing she saw was the pearly ceiling.

She didn't remember going to the hospital; she thought that something like that must have happened, because she could tell that the bed she was lying in was not her own. But she didn't remember arms carrying her or soothing kisses pressed to her forehead. Thankfully, she didn't really expect to remember that, because who would have carried her?

She also didn't remember waking up, didn't remember the hospital walls, blank and white, didn't remember the cloudless sky outside her window.

Probably because that never happened.

She simply lay in bed, her eyes closed, her heart beating, but only faintly. She wasn't aware of anything going on around her. She didn't even realize that she was in the hospital; she only knew something was wrong. But she thought that maybe she was asleep.

It was irrelevant, in any event. She didn't really want to wake up. She was having quite a peaceful dream, just soothing colors and smiling faces, and the light only invited screaming and excitement. She decided she was tired of her life, tired of high school and relationships and betrayals. She might just lie like this forever.

But the thought scared her more than she had expected it to. She'd never see her father again, never visit his château in Paris. She'd never see her mother – although that might not be _so_ painful – and Serena and Nate. She wasn't exactly on good terms with any of them, but she didn't want to give them up. And if she just lay like that, she'd never see Chuck…

Chuck.

Blair's eyes would have fluttered open then, if not for her drug-induced coma. She began hyperventilating, she thought – but she was only imagining that. She lay quite peacefully, actually. The battle was raged wholly within her body.

She tried to remember certain things. She wanted to hold on as long as she could – who knew how much time she had until she would awake? – and she wanted to spend those remaining days or hours or minutes immersed in fond memories.

She tried to conjure different faces. Chuck was the easiest. Each line and edge of his sculpted features was defined; her focus was sharp as she peered into his smoldering eyes and let herself fall. Serena was slightly more difficult, but still manageable. Blair traced the contours of her best friend's silky blond waves and the roundness of her navy blue eyes, but her nose was blurry, and her forehead was a blob of color and skin. Blair found she couldn't quite remember where that one freckle was.

She panicked.

She heard a faraway beeping, and a commotion above her head. She even thought she heard Chuck's voice.

But the noise subsided before she could fully concentrate on it, and she promptly forgot about it.

She drifted through a haze of grey as she lay there. She dreamed she was walking through the streets of New York, and that every person she passed was _him_. She dreamed she saw his face in the paned windows of every Barney's and the sleek counters of every Chanel. She dreamed his mouth was on hers, even as she traced every step that had led her to him in the first place.

Oh, how she missed him! She would wake up just for him, she really would. It had been too long since she had seen his face, too long since she had lain in his arms…

The hours passed, slowly and achingly, and Blair decided to chronolog her past. She did this whenever she felt like she was losing control of her life. Well, not exactly. She did this _after _she flushed all her troubles down the toilet, if she remembered to take hold of herself again. But that rarely happened. She usually lost herself completely after an "episode."

She cringed at the word, but concentrated instead on the task at hand: remembering.

It proved more difficult than she had imagined; there were certain things she could remember better than others. That fall day Chuck first found her in the bathroom was hopelessly, painfully clear. She remembered the very tilt of his hat on his head and the shock, mingling with concern, that flitted through his probing eyes. She remembered her overwhelming mortification, felt it course through her body like flames licking her hair. And she remembered that omnipresent ache in her stomach, remembered how that day had instilled in her a rabid curiosity about Chuck.

She thought she might have fallen for him that day.

Her relationship with Nate, meanwhile, was a nondescript blur. She couldn't remember his face at all. She _thought_ he had gold hair and blue eyes, but she really wasn't sure…she didn't remember the shape of his mouth or the set of his shoulders. She didn't remember anything about him, except the innate boredom he had always prompted in her. She felt like all those years spent with him were years wasted, if she couldn't even remember them. And she resented that, she did. But she suspected she would resent it more if she remembered their relationship.

Her friendship with Serena was easier. She remembered almost every fond moment they had shared, remembered walking to school and gossiping about Kati and Iz's latest fashion faux pas, remembered getting dressed up for parties and exchanging clothes like they exchanged phone numbers. She remembered everything, and she felt like crying.

When had it all changed?

She didn't want to think about it, so she focused instead on one happy memory that stood out from all the rest: Christmas vacation their freshman year.

They went to St. Bart's for winter break that year (they being Serena, Blair, Blair's mother, and Blair's father), and they lounged around in the sun all week, doing nothing. It was before everything fell apart, before Blair's father ran off with a gay man, before Serena's parents sent her off to boarding school, before Nate really came between them. Blair thought they had never been happier.

They were fourteen then. Nate was simply a boy Blair was head over heels in love with, and although they were together, it was that kind of childish relationship that's really only skin-deep. Serena hadn't yet made her claim for him, and the Upper East Side World was completely at peace, at least for them.

And one sweltering day, the two girls had just eaten lunch, and they were bored out of their minds. They didn't want to exercise – they had just eaten, and weren't in the mood for the treadmill anyway. They didn't want to hang out in their suite, because it was _such_ a beautiful day. But they didn't want to go to the beach either; neither one of them was willing to put on their bathing suits, and besides, that would involve dragging Eleanor and Harold along with them to "chaperone."

So they decided to skinny-dip.

Serena had before, of course – what _hasn't_ that girl done? Thought Blair ruefully – but Blair never had. She was anxious about it, but Serena convinced her to just give it a try. And Blair gave in, because back then, she was much more willing to give herself to emotion.

And in the end, she was glad she did it. It had been hopelessly liberating. The ocean water was clear and fresh, and just cold enough to shock them both out of their laziness. There wasn't anyone else in the water – it was a private beach of course – and they lingered until the sun was beginning to set. And when they were done, they raced back to their beachfront, five-star hotel and crept through the bushes surrounding the infinity edge pool. They didn't want to get in trouble for being naked by the pool (they didn't know if there were any rules about that, but they weren't taking any chances), but more importantly, they would have been incredibly embarrassed – Blair would have, at least – if anyone had seen them. They were both nervous, but excited.

And then they saw Nate.

Neither of them knew he was going to be around; they knew, of course, that he was going to be in St. Bart's, but he hadn't said where exactly. They were, justifiably, surprised.

He was hiding in the bushes, for whatever reason, and he was wearing his typical summer outfit: crisp, mint green Ralph Lauren polo and plaid Abercrombie shorts. The two girls had snickered upon seeing him; they had no idea why he was hiding there. They knew why _they_ were creeping behind the bushes, but his motives were laughably unclear.

Blair never forgot the look of absolute shock on Nate's face. She had looked down at her naked body and giggled uncontrollably, because for once, she was being wild and unstoppable. And he didn't look like he minded.

Lust darkened those gloriously blue eyes of his, and color flooded his lacrosse-tanned cheeks. Serena laughed raucously at him and tugged on Blair's arm.

The two girls exchanged sly, calculating glances, and Blair asked her boyfriend whimsically, "What the hell are you doing here?" She meant to sound ferocious and angry, but she was too happy for that, and the sun had drained all her energy.

He shook his head in confusion, as he always had, as he always would, and stuttered, "Well, I…I just thought -"

But the blonde and the brunette simply cast disdainful looks in his direction – because, of course, they could never _directly_ glare at him – and fled into the dying embers of the sunset, their long hair billowing behind them. And just as they had begun to vanish out of sight, they yelled in unison, "You know you love us!"

And Nate most certainly did.

But Blair didn't remember that escapade because of him. Not really. She remembered it because of how happy and carefree she was that winter, and how everything just seemed _right_. She had never felt more attuned to Serena; they were as close as they would ever be, and they spent every waking – and most sleeping, too – moment together. It was wonderful.

Blair sighed wistfully in her sleep – or unconsciousness, or whatever state she was in. She wished she could go back to that carefree time, or at least find a way to be that person again. She wanted to be the kind of girl who skinny-dipped in the ocean and flirted outrageously.

But thankfully, she had noticed something changing in her over the past few days, or weeks, or months. As she and Nate had inevitably begun to drift apart, she had felt looser, freer. She had felt more like the girl she used to be. She had broken free from the chains of society and expectation that had held her captive for so long. She had found herself; she had discovered who she was supposed to be.

And it wasn't so much a matter of what career she would pursue or whom she would marry or how much money she would inherit. She found that what she discovered was what kind of person she wanted to be. What kind of person she _would_ be.

She wanted to be fiercely loyal, protective; she wanted to guard those she loved with all her might. She wanted to learn to be dependent on others than herself, to learn to trust people, even when she couldn't even trust herself. She wanted to dream, hope, and reach for what she wanted.

And she knew that had nothing to do with Nate and everything to do with Chuck.

It scared her a little, but there it was. There it would always be. She, Blair Waldorf, was in love with Chuck Bass. And it didn't matter what college they ended up at or how mad Nate got at them when he found out or whether Eleanor disowned them. They would end up together. They were meant to be.

Because as much as she wanted her life to be like a movie, her originally unintentional relationship with Chuck was more romantic than anything she could have ever come up with. He was a manwhore – there was no polite term for it – and she was a perfectionist. It was classic: good girl falls in love with bad boy and reforms him for the better. It was the kind of story she would have sighed in pleasure at if it were just a movie. And, she was glad to find, she enjoyed it even more when it was _her_ story.

Nate was a prince, yes, a beautifully sculpted, pleasantly mannered, completely _boring_ prince. Blair knew now that she didn't want him and maybe never had. And besides, she couldn't deny that sometimes she leaned toward the less…dashing men in the movies, the men who are always on the sidelines. Chuck was that guy in her story. Sometimes she loved him less for it, but more often, and more overwhelmingly, she loved him much more for it.

And so Blair decided, as she lay in that dingy hospital bed, that she would fight. She would fight to wake up, fight to overcome her crippling bulimia. Because if she didn't fight, she would never get to be with Chuck.

And that was a future Blair Waldorf – at least the Blair Waldorf she knew she was becoming – would not accept. She wanted her fairytale ending, and goddamn it, she would get it.

* * * * *

Chuck sighed as he sat by Blair's side. He had tried to ignore the doctors' explanations and medical jargon; it only angered and saddened him to hear about Blair's bulimia and her chances of survival. He knew she might not make it through this. He certainly didn't need to hear it from someone else. Instead, he had simply sat in that uncomfortable chair and watched over his unconscious princess, holding her hand and stroking her hair. She looked so peaceful, as if she was only sleeping…but he knew she wasn't.

He was afraid to admit how much that scared him.

And soon – earlier than Chuck had expected, actually – the words that fled from Dr. Reilly's mouth hummed in Chuck's well-tuned ears, and, try as he might, he couldn't block the sound. He could fight against it; he _would_ fight. But he was exhausted and hungry, and he couldn't concentrate.

And before he fully understood what was happening, a tear had slipped past his defenses and gently covered Blair's index finger. He was astonished, but made no move to wipe her skin free of the moisture.

He heard the door open again, heard whoever had opened it slink into the room. He heard Serena gasp a little, for the second time that day, heard her whimper. He even heard the shake of her head as her blond hair whipped through the stale air. He heard her ask him for a moment with Blair, and something inside him broke.

Blair might die.

He panicked. He had just barely begun to scratch the surface of how much he could love this girl, and now she might be torn from him. His heart ached for the time he had wasted on unsatisfactory one-night stands and lap dances in seedy bars. He could have been loving her, then, could have been holding her and making love to her while the sunlight streamed in through her bedroom windows…

Making love. That was such a foreign concept. When had he ever considered sex an act of love? To him, it was always just give-and-take, just a way to sate his crazed thirst for his best friend's girlfriend. And in the end, it had been that same best friend's girlfriend who had shown him that sex could be – and would be as long as she was involved – closely related to love.

He sighed heavily. Without this girl – woman, he corrected – he wasn't sure how he would survive. He knew he could never have sex again, because no one could ever compare.

But he was a little disgusted with himself. The nurse who was tending to Blair was exactly his type: porcelain skin, cascading chestnut waves, soulful brown eyes. She even had _her_ voice, sweet and silky and rough all at once. She had flirted with him outrageously, ignoring the sight of his hand upon the hand of the frail woman in the bed. And he hadn't even blinked. He hadn't responded to her coy smiles, hadn't smirked at her, hadn't invited her to his suite. He had, in short, completely and utterly ignored her.

And that made him realize that he was immune to anyone other than Blair Waldorf. Because he loved her.

He was proud of that, actually. He had never believed himself capable of love. He had left that job to Nate. But now he could appreciate it, could revel in it.

He sighed again and nodded to Serena, kissing any part of Blair's face he could reach before getting up and leaving the room. He didn't raise his eyes as he passed Blair's dearest and most flighty friend. It was too hard to catch her gaze.

He slammed the door behind him, suppressing the urge to flinch at the sound. He had more important things to worry about, like the fact that his girlfriend was probably dying. But that was just it. He knew what was wrong with her, but he had no idea if she would just have to be in the hospital for a couple days or if this was really life threatening. He suspected he would know if he had listened to the doctor, but at the time, he just hadn't had the energy to.

He strode down the empty hallway, running his hand through his hair wearily. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do. This was perhaps the only thing he could not save Blair from. He wished he could – oh, how he _wished _he could! – but he knew he had no resources. He had neither the money nor the cure nor the brains nor the…anything. He could not solve this problem.

And that scared him. He had always relied on a simple, "I'm Chuck Bass," to resolve any conflict. He knew that wouldn't work here.

He found himself in Dr. Reilly's office without any clue as to how he got there. The door was flung open, and he went in without knocking, because he was much too distressed to observe etiquette.

The doctor was sitting at his desk rifling through paperwork, brow creased, as if in frustration or confusion. Chuck couldn't tell which.

Chuck cleared his throat politely and addressed the older man, "Dr. Reilly."

The doctor looked up at him, his dark brown eyes giving nothing away, and nodded bluntly, replying, "Mr. Bass." Chuck wondered how he knew who he was, but figured this entire incident must have been all over the papers. The collapse of a Waldorf was most definitely Page Six news.

Chuck noticed that the doctor's voice was tired; he sounded like he had been up all night. He knew the feeling.

Chuck wasn't entirely sure what to say, but he was a practical man; he decided he would figure out the easy stuff first, the medical insurance and the hospital bills and the medication costs. He remained standing, knowing instinctively that he shouldn't sit down – he wasn't sure why, but it made sense to him – and asked gently, "What is the nature of Miss Waldorf's medical costs?" It was an awkwardly worded question, but he thought the doctor would understand nonetheless.

Dr. Reilly sighed and smiled wanly, answering politely, "Her medical insurance fully covers her stay here at the hospital."

Chuck nodded; he had expected that. She was a Waldorf, after all, and her mother's inheritance was probably sufficient to rent out an entire wing of the hospital. But he panicked a little, because he had hoped that he could help Blair in some way. He couldn't help her materially, couldn't _really _help her recover from her bulimia. But he had thought that maybe he could help her monetarily. At least.

So he tried again. "Are there any other costs I can help with?"

The doctor shook his head gently and gestured to the empty chair. "Sit down, Mr. Bass," he offered kindly, his eyes twinkling a little. Chuck thought about it for a moment, fretting over everything that could happen to Blair while he was gone, before nodding absently and taking a seat.

The doctor smiled at him and murmured politely, "Now what can I help you with?"

Chuck bristled at this patronizing comment and sneered, "No, the real question is: why has Miss Waldorf not awakened?" He roared the last few words in an attempt to sound frightening, but his voice broke, and he trembled slightly. He wanted to stand up so he could tower over the small doctor, but he couldn't find the strength to.

Dr. Reilly frowned sympathetically and reached out to touch Chuck's arm, but Chuck shook his head mutely. That only reminded him of how much he wished he were holding Blair's warm hand – not her cold, frail, pale hand – right now.

The doctor nodded and explained softly, "Miss Waldorf's body has experienced a lot of stress over the past few days. I understand she has made herself throw up at least four times in the last three days?"

Chuck nodded, countering defensively and instinctively, "I tried to make her stop, but –"

The doctor cut him off, protesting, "No one is blaming anyone."

Chuck scoffed; he sure as hell blamed Nate, Serena and Blair's mother, among others. But he held his tongue.

"I am sorry," the doctor lamented. Chuck glared at him, because those words usually indicated death. Or, at least, a severely worsened condition. But the doctor only averted his eyes and murmured, "But there is nothing you can do to help your…friend. Miss Waldorf must recuperate on her own."

Chuck's hackles rose at the word "friend." He wasn't Blair's _friend_. He was her boyfriend, goddamn it, and he wanted everyone to know it.

"Boyfriend," he corrected bluntly, smiling a little. The doctor didn't even blink, and Chuck appreciated that. But then he remembered what was going on.

"And when is she expected to wake up?" he spat through gritted teeth, clenching his fists. He couldn't remember ever feeling this angry. And what was worse was that he had no idea whom the anger was directed toward. But he realized that was a simple question, an easy question, and a question that had an even simpler answer.

Everyone. He was angry with everyone. Including – and perhaps especially – himself.

He should have done more to save Blair. He should have helped her overcome her bulimia. He should have…but he sighed. There was nothing he could do about it now, except hope she survived.

The doctor sighed, bringing Chuck back to the present, and answered, "She should wake up in the next couple of hours. Tomorrow at the very latest."

Chuck nodded thoughtfully. That was good news, exceedingly good news. But he suddenly felt very tired, and he realized that all he wanted to do was curl up next to Blair and go to sleep. And maybe he'd just stay there till she woke up.

His voice was unusually polite when he murmured, "Thank you, Dr. Reilly."

The doctor nodded, his eyes following Chuck as they both stood up. Chuck extended his hand for the doctor to shake, and Dr. Reilly took it eagerly, pumping his arm up and down with more fervor than the moment probably warranted. But Chuck nodded in the way men do and began walking towards the door.

"Mr. Bass," Dr. Reilly called after him.

Chuck turned, his gaze questioning, waiting. The doctor smiled at him and assured him, "She'll be okay. You just have to believe she'll make it."

Chuck nodded, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and walked out the door, heading back towards Blair's room. He wanted to be with her right now, whether she survived or not.

And then he saw Nathaniel.

Chuck was surprised by the hot anger that spread through his body like hungry fire. His best friend – or former best friend – looked much the same as always: brownish-blond hair falling over his forehead, bright blue eyes blank and lifeless, suit crease-free and perfectly fitted. But there was something about him – his unassuming smile, maybe, or the way he nervously folded and unfolded his hands – that made Chuck want to hurt him like he had hurt Blair.

Chuck didn't think he was a violent man, but he couldn't deny that he was more than a little protective, at least when it came to Blair. He didn't want anyone to hurt her, and Nate had hurt her more times than any of them could count. And so Chuck knew he had to fight Nathaniel. Maybe not physically, but definitely verbally. And he knew he would win. He wasn't being conceited – at least he didn't _think_ he was – but he was far better at verbal parry than Nathaniel was.

After all, Blair had taught him well, he thought with a little laugh.

Chuck headed in Nathaniel's direction, determination in his step, and approached him tentatively. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to reveal about the nature of his and Blair's relationship. Nathaniel knew they were friends, of course. But no one except Serena – at least, Chuck thought she knew, judging by the expression on her face when she saw him holding Blair's hand – and Eleanor knew the real truth. And he didn't think he was ready for Nathaniel to know. He _knew_ he wasn't ready.

And so he opted to blame Nathaniel for this whole thing. Maybe that would distract Nathaniel from the very real question of why Chuck was at the hospital.

As soon as he reached his "best friend," Chuck accosted him angrily, "What the hell are you doing here?"

It was a valid question, he thought – Blair and Nathaniel had broken up a couple days ago, and they weren't exactly on good terms – and so he was surprised when Nate appraised him disdainfully and snapped, "I have every right to be here."

Chuck reeled backward as if Nathaniel had struck him. The venom in his best friend's voice surprised him. Usually it was he and Blair who brought the fire in their small, appropriately named Non-Judging Breakfast Club. Serena and Nathaniel were calmer, less devious, and, maybe, nicer. But also less interesting. So Chuck was surprised that Nate spoke so argumentatively. He had no reason to be mad at Chuck.

Or did he? Had he found out about Chuck and Blair's…relationship?

Chuck clenched his fists and struggled to smile a little, trying to conceal the turmoil upsetting his stomach at the moment. "Hey," he reprimanded easily, "Take it down a notch, Archibald."

Nathaniel breathed a sigh – one of relief, Chuck thought – while Chuck explained, "I was only wondering because Gossip Girl reported that you and the Queen B broke up."

It hurt to even think of Nathaniel and Blair together, especially considering all that had happened in the past few days, and Chuck suppressed the urge to punch Nathaniel in that smug little nose of his. Violence was probably not the best idea right now. They _were_ in a hospital; Nathaniel's broken nose would be fixed much more quickly than Chuck wanted it to be.

Nathaniel nodded slowly, obviously trying to process this information, and finally replied, "Yeah, but Blair's still my friend. I'm worried about her."

Something in Chuck snapped. He suddenly wanted to throttle Nathaniel, to tackle him to the ground and punch him in the face until blood streamed from his nose like vomit fled from Blair's throat. He had never wanted to hit another man more. He couldn't believe that Nathaniel thought he had a right to worry about Blair, whom he had cheated on, lied to, and publicly humiliated. What made him think he could just come here and pretend nothing had happened? Because he couldn't. Chuck simply wouldn't allow it.

But he forced himself to take a deep breath and clap Nathaniel on the back, murmuring, "The doctors say she'll be fine." It wasn't entirely true, but Chuck sure as hell didn't want to have to deal with Nathaniel's fake, orchestrated concern. And besides, he was trying to distract Nathaniel. He knew that if he and Nathaniel talked much longer, his presence was sure to come up. And he really didn't want to field questions about why _he_ was there

Nathaniel nodded again and ran his hand through his hair, muttering in clear confusion, "Man, I didn't even know. All these years and I never knew…"

It took all of Chuck's self-control – and after years of dealing with Bart Bass, he had a lot of it – not to punch Nathaniel. He really couldn't believe his ears. Blair's bulimia was such an obvious, widely known fact. At least, he had _thought_ it was. Sure, he was the only one who ever really did anything about it, but he had always thought that that was just because Nathaniel and Serena were squeamish and self-absorbed, not because they didn't _know_ about it. The thought made him more than furious.

But instead of lashing out physically, he lashed out verbally. "What the fuck." It wasn't even a question. It was a cold, even accusation.

Nathaniel glared at him as ferociously as he could muster, but he was completely dumbfounded, and Chuck could tell. Nathaniel shook his head and asked, "What do you mean? I thought no one knew."

And unfortunately for Nathaniel, that was the moment Chuck snapped. "_I _knew!" he roared, and before Nathaniel could react, let alone understand what the hell Chuck was yelling about, Chuck threw his arm back and punched Nathaniel right in the face.

There was utter silence for a long moment as Chuck wrung his hands proudly and Nathaniel swayed on his feet. Neither boy said anything. They only looked at each other, both shocked by what had just happened.

Finally, Nathaniel shook his head in bewilderment and wiped his nose. "What the hell was _that_ for?"

Chuck shook his head in reply. He decided he simply didn't care if Nathaniel knew about he and Blair's relationship. The punch he had thrown had filled him with adrenaline, and he was ready to fight for the future he wanted: a future with Blair. "For not knowing that your girlfriend of three years has bulimia!"

The word burned his throat as he spoke it, and he swung again, hoping to catch Nathaniel in the eye this time. But Nathaniel was quicker than he was – and also in much better shape. He caught Chuck's fist right in front of his face and glared down at him coldly, murmuring, "And why does that matter to you?"

His voice was cruel and calculating, and Chuck flinched and stepped back. He stared at the man he had known all his life and turned his head slightly, as if to turn around completely. He thought he heard Nathaniel sigh in relief, and in reply he turned fully to face his former best friend. Before surprise could even register on Nathaniel's face, he clarified softly, "Because she's mine now."

Chuck couldn't quite hide the note of glee that crept into his voice, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It felt good to beat Nathaniel at something for once in his life. Besides, he liked sounding territorial. Especially about Blair.

The expression of dumb shock that rested on Nathaniel's tanned and flawless face gave Chuck just enough time to add, "And you never even cared about her!" This last statement was screeched, just as he wanted it to be.

And so he punched Nathaniel again.

Nathaniel fought back, though. He shoved Chuck violently and protested defiantly, "It's only been a couple days, man. I can't believe you already made her one of your whores!"

He sneered the word – something Chuck had never known he was capable of doing – and Chuck flinched. Nathaniel could insult _him_ as much as he wanted to, but Blair was sacred. He wouldn't allow Nathaniel to speak ill of her.

"Fuck you," Chuck muttered, lunging at Nathaniel again. He didn't try to defend himself or his actions; Nathaniel wouldn't have listened, and besides, he didn't have to. He knew that what he and Blair shared was not just sex. And Nathaniel could never understand that.

The two boys – or men, or teenagers, or whatever they were – fought long and hard. Each was driven by a cold need to completely obliterate the other. Nathaniel wasn't entirely sure what he was fighting for – he thought it might be Blair's honor, but he really didn't know – but Chuck was determined to kill him, and that was enough incentive for him to fight back as hard as he could.

It wasn't until Serena yelped that the two former best friends realized they were fighting right outside Blair's room.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Serena yelled as she shut Blair's door behind her, prompting Chuck and Nate to jump off each other and stand a few feet apart. They stared at each other angrily, panting from the exertion of trying to kill one another.

"He slept with Blair," Nate spat, his eyes never leaving Chuck's face. Neither Chuck nor Serena had ever heard him sound so bitter.

Serena gasped in shock, her hand flying to her mouth, and walked up to Chuck. "Is that true?" she asked softly, not quite able to believe that Chuck had been the one to deflower her best friend.

Chuck nodded, hanging his head, but he didn't seem remorseful, because he wasn't. In any event, Serena really didn't care about his thoughts on the subject. She stared at him for a long moment before slapping him across the face.

Chuck pressed a hand to his stinging cheek and mumbled, "I guess I deserved that." He rose his eyes, only to find Serena nodding and Nate smiling in satisfaction. "Actually, I didn't," he corrected himself.

Serena looked at him in shock yet again, but he barreled on, "She needed someone, and I was there," He paused for a moment, gathering his almost forgotten courage, before accusing boldly, "Unlike you two."

He was met with identical expressions of blue-eyed astonishment and anger, but Serena looked a little…sad, he thought. He was glad. She deserved to regret this.

She shook her head angrily and countered, "Don't you dare, Chuck. Don't you dare."

At the same time, Nate defended himself. "At least I didn't sleep with her _two days_ after we broke up."

"A day and a half, actually," Chuck corrected wryly.

The trio erupted into a cacophony of voices, each trying to talk over the other. Not much was said or heard, mostly just unintelligible murmurs of _Blair's condition is all that matters_ and _this is your fault_ and _if you hadn't slept with her_.

But suddenly, they all heard a small voice whimper, "Chuck?"

The conscious members of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club exchanged uneasy glances, crossing their arms in identical, defensive positions.

The Queen B was awake.

_tbc_


	14. Save They Did Not Last

**A/N: I am _so_ sorry this chapter took me so long. I had so much going on these past couple weeks, and I really struggled to get this written. So I apologize for the long time and promise to get the next update to you sooner :)**

**Anyways, thanks for reading and enjoy!**

**P.S. The title is from a quote by Letitia Elizabeth Landon.**

* * *

Chapter 14

Save They Did Not Last

* * *

_So, help me decide  
Help me to make up  
Make up my mind  
Wouldn't that save you?  
Wouldn't that save you?  
- Save You by Matthew Perryman Jones_

The rain pattering against Blair's windows awoke her at last. The light, soft sound didn't surprise her, of course (it _was_ April), but it frightened her a little. The drops sounded different in this place, so foreign and unfamiliar. She was used to falling asleep to the low rumbling of rain in the streets, but this suddenly seemed alien.

She reached instinctively for Chuck's hand, her panic overwhelming common sense. She knew somehow that he had sat with her for the past two or three days or however long she was unconscious, and so she let out a little gasp of shock when she couldn't feel the warmth of his skin. Why wasn't he there?

Blair opened her eyes slowly, ignoring everything but the clock on the bedside table next to her. She reasoned that maybe he was just at lunch or something. She was secure enough in his affection – try as she might, she couldn't quite think of him as in love yet – for her that she assumed he wouldn't just leave her.

But it was ten in the morning, and Blair Waldorf's savior was nowhere in sight.

The reigning Queen B tried not to panic. She could already feel her heartbeat beginning to accelerate, and she laid a frail hand on her chest with a quick, embarrassed flutter of her eyelashes. She wanted to sit up – she was ashamed at her weakness and needed to prove her strength to herself – but the lines of the blank walls were blurry and ragged as she lifted her head. Her arms hung limp by her side, as if they couldn't support her body even if they tried.

So she only sighed in resignation and called softly, "Chuck?" She didn't mean to sound small and vulnerable, but she couldn't infuse her voice with any power.

She had finally been broken.

She heard a few shouts from outside her door – she knew now that she was in a hospital, though she intended to ignore that annoying fact for as long as impossible – and she furrowed her brow in confusion just as Chuck burst into the room.

Blair stared at him blankly for a long moment, heat warming her throat and flooding her cheeks. She felt very awake suddenly; she felt _alive_. For there he stood, chest heaving, hair disheveled, gaze almost…sheepish. And glorious as always.

She felt her heart stir a little, and she attempted to still the nervous trembling before asking curiously, "What the hell happened to you?" She wasn't sure it was quite the proper greeting, but a "hello" just didn't seem appropriate. She smiled at herself, pleased by her effort; she hadn't had to breathe halfway through the inane sentence, and she had managed to sound sufficiently biting and bitter, almost like her old self.

But only almost.

Chuck ran a hand through his tousled locks wearily, distracting Blair as her eyes traced the contours of his delicately trimmed fingernails. He didn't respond to the lust darkening her eyes, and she wondered what was going on with him. He didn't look nearly as excited to see her as she had hoped.

Her lips automatically formed a pout, as they had for so many years when she didn't get her way. But he shook his head minutely, and she understood suddenly that his discomfort had nothing to do with her.

Still, she longed for him to look at her, longed for him to smile crookedly at her and flick his tongue between her chapped lips. She had missed him in the gray, and she didn't want to waste any more time without him.

But he only breathed, apparently only now realizing that she had said something, "You're awake." He sounded shocked, and touched. It was a weird combination, especially from Chuck Bass.

His eyes flew to hers, and he was silent for a long moment as she nodded. He took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the next moment. She was still a little woozy, to be sure, but she thought he scampered to her side before she even took her next breath. She didn't think she'd ever seen him move so quickly.

He seated himself in the uncomfortable chair and grasped her cold hand quickly, bending over to press a tender kiss to her forehead and repeat, "You're awake." Joy flickered through those hazel eyes as he breathed her in.

They were quiet for a moment.

And then his lips were everywhere: her nose, her eyelashes, the apples of her cheeks, the side of her jaw. She thought faintly that it felt like he was checking if she was really awake, really alive, but she didn't much care. Because he was here and he was hers and she would finally get that fairytale ending.

After a long, lingering silence, Blair closed her eyes and whispered, "Chuck."

"Yes?" He raised his eyes slightly and looked at her with hooded eyes, his hair falling over his eyes. She reached forward impulsively and caught his lips with hers, noticing as his cheeks brushed hers that he was crying.

A smile alighted on her lips as tears slipped from her tired eyes, too, and she made no move to banish them. She merely whispered against his lips, moisture augmenting her tongue as she spoke, "I love you."

She was surprised the words came so easily now. With Nate they had always felt forced, but with Chuck…

Chuck closed his eyes in response, a content smile flitting across his face, and kissed her softly again. He murmured, "I love you, too."

Blair stroked his cheek adoringly as he kissed her, his lips bringing promises of devotion and affection and honestly. She thought blissfully that perhaps she would never be so happy again. She would overcome her bulimia – finally, she thought the word with a hint of disgust. She would fight to be with Chuck. Because she was realizing that she could weather any storm with him by her side.

She thought that maybe she was ready to fully confront her disease (she could recognize that it was a disease now). She was tired of feeling weak all the time, tired of feeling like she had to struggle to control her life. She knew she could handle the world without that self-deprecating act.

"Chuck," Blair whispered, his lips still murmuring against hers, "I'm sorry." She thought he would know what she meant. She thought he would know that she was talking about her bulimia. She _knew _he would understand that she didn't know why she kept making herself throw up.

And he did.

He smiled a little, pain flicking through his toffee eyes, and waved the question off. "No worries, Waldorf," – she grinned at the familiar nickname – "You're safe now. That's all that matters."

Blair wanted to tease him for the utter cheesiness of that line, but tears welled in her eyes before she could muster the sound. She gasped slightly and murmured, "I don't know how to stop, Chuck. I just don't know." Her voice broke, and Chuck instinctively pressed a hand to her cheek. He couldn't bear to see her cry.

Blair smiled through her tears, and Chuck reassured her, "We'll get there together."

It was a promise he didn't intend to break, and they both knew it. The moment was undeniably long and weighty, and suddenly, Chuck felt stunned by all the affection simmering in the air. He needed to find a way to lighten the mood, a way to bring him and Blair back to the easy teasing of their relationship. He chuckled nervously under his breath and mumbled, "We'll come together." He smiled devilishly, but uneasily, as if he was afraid of Blair's reaction to his lewd comment.

But Blair smiled. This Chuck was the Chuck she loved. This beautiful, manic, almost…disgusting man was the man she wanted, the man she needed. She enjoyed his sexual remarks.

Somehow.

She shook her head gently and patted his hand. "It's okay," her voice was soft, reassuring, "It'll _be _okay." And Chuck believed her, for some reason.

They both knew it would be okay. They could feel it.

Blair pressed her lips to Chuck's with a small smile, and they kissed softly for a few moments before breaking apart regretfully. Their breath mingled together, and Blair traced the curve of his lips with one slender finger, a smile gracing her features. Her touch was feather-like, soft and light, he noted, and he let his eyes flutter closed in pure contentment. He was finally here with Blair, even after her bulimia episode and his fight with Nate…

Oh, shit. Nate.

"What the hell happened to you?" Blair asked again, her voice lower and more serious this time. Chuck sighed in resignation. Apparently, not even a slightly swollen lip could escape her notice.

He struggled not to frown or allow anger to dance in his eyes as he deflected her query. "I ran into the vending machine." He knew it was a feeble excuse, but he was thinking on his feet.

A flicker of confusion alighted in Blair's brown eyes, and he thought that maybe he had fooled her. But she only glared at him and contradicted, her tone disapproving, "Oh please, Chuck. You've never run into anything in your life."

Chuck smiled wryly – he thought that might have been a thinly veiled compliment – but countered, "I beg to differ, actually," he smiled a little, pleased with the easy camaraderie of their conversation, "I have been _into_ several -"

Blair cut him off, batting his arm weakly, but she smiled. He sighed in relief.

Of course, though, she wouldn't give up so quickly (and he knew that, in some deep recess of his mind). She placed a cold hand on his cheek, flinching at the heat contrast, and warned, "Don't make me ask you again."

Chuck cringed. She sounded very suspicious, and he should probably tell her everything. But he wasn't sure he wanted to reveal all the sordid details. Nate had been his best friend since kindergarten and Blair's boyfriend for almost three years; surely, the news of he and Chuck's fight would infuriate Blair. But Chuck didn't want her to overexert herself by questioning him further, so he relented.

Grudgingly, of course.

"I may have…engaged Nathaniel in a duel of sorts," he explained evasively. He knew he sounded absolutely ridiculous, but he couldn't bring himself to spell it out. He thought that maybe he was ashamed of fighting Nate.

Blair didn't say anything for a long moment. It was clear she understood what had happened, of course, and Chuck thought that her silence might be even more frightening than her vocal anger. He couldn't tell what she was thinking when she didn't snap at him; even her eyes gave nothing away. Usually he could see the conflict in those brown depths, since they were so much like this. But this time, she was obviously hiding something.

But what? Anger? Sorrow? Regret? All these emotions Chuck expected, so why did she even bother to guard her eyes?

Blair closed her eyes finally, shielding herself from Chuck's penetrating gaze, and whispered, "What happened?" She really wasn't sure what to think. The only thing Chuck and Nate could possibly have fought about was herself – she knew that was conceited to think, but oh well – and she wasn't sure she liked that. They shouldn't have fought over her, she pouted. She was beginning to realize that the entire universe didn't revolve around her.

Oh, Queen B. _Finally_.

Besides, Blair mused, considering Nate's infallible stupidity and Chuck's volatile anger – both these things she thought fondly – they could have really hurt each other. She was more worried than she was prepared to admit. She still had some pride, after all.

Chuck squirmed in his seat, his eyes wild, and explained haltingly, "He said some things, and I…overreacted." It was the most polite way he could think of to explain it.

But he sounded strangely nonchalant, and Blair had to resist the urge to frown. She wondered what he wasn't telling her, but instead of asking him, she touched a finger to the cut just above his eyebrow and inquired gently, "Things about me?"

She cocked her head in question, her gaze searching. His eyes dropped from hers, as if in shame, and he nodded.

Blair nodded slowly, digesting this information, and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't quite sure what he wanted to hear her say. But finally, she whispered, more tears – at least she _thought_ so – welling in her eyes, "Thank you."

Chuck's shock barely registered on his face before Blair crashed her lips to his gratefully. He was astonished that she was so willing to accept his explanation, but he knew he didn't really have a right to be. Nate had broken Blair's heart, and Blair had obviously wanted to respond the only way she knew how: revenge. But this time, she just couldn't fight him. She was glad Chuck had understood that.

He had fought for her. And so she kissed him, because she was crying and he was hurt and he had punched Nate because he loved her…

After a few long moments, Blair and Chuck – for they had always been Blair and Chuck the unit, and always would be – heard someone clear their throat. Blair pulled away with a soft sigh and raised her eyes slightly, while Chuck growled under his breath, turning his head to face the unwelcome visitor.

But it was only – only? – Serena.

The blond bombshell (although she of course didn't define herself as that) blushed a little, discomfort etched in her features, and muttered, "Oh, I'm so sorry. I'll just…"

She turned around to leave, but Blair chimed lightly, "No, wait." She wasn't sure what she was doing, but it felt right somehow. She patted the spot on her bed that wasn't occupied by Chuck and smiled encouragingly, staring at her former – and hopefully future – best friend somewhat fondly. She tried to ignore Chuck's obvious surprise, offering, "Join us."

Chuck opened his mouth to say something, but Blair clapped a hand over his mouth, grinning widely. Serena laughed and walked towards them, and Blair uncurled her fingers gently.

Chuck gaped at his girlfriend (for that she was, despite his slight discomfort at the word) curiously. He expected to see at least a faint blush on her cheeks, at least _some_ indication of her embarrassment at Serena catching them kissing. But Blair's skin was pale and blank as always, and Chuck couldn't see any turmoil in those brown eyes of hers. He also didn't understand why Blair would even talk to Serena; this girl had cheated on Blair with her long-time boyfriend, and the Blair Waldorf he knew would have plotted revenge on the leggy blonde.

So what the hell had happened to Blair?

Serena looked just as confused as Chuck, but she hid it well, smiling slyly and sitting down next to Blair. She reached for the brunette's hand hesitantly, and Blair met her halfway, as she always had.

Serena smiled at the gesture and asked Blair gently, "How are you feeling, B?"

Blair smiled at the nickname and shrugged her shoulders. She was feeling strangely gracious; perhaps she wasn't angry with Serena anymore. Or maybe those four hospital walls were just playing tricks on her.

"I'm okay," she finally asserted, almost defiantly, because she didn't want anyone babying her or treating her like glass.

Chuck didn't understand that, of course. She was in a hospital; how could she expect people to _not_ take care of her?

Serena nodded, though – she was always quicker about these things than Chuck – and asked Blair politely, "Do you need anything?" The question was more awkward than she wanted it to sound, and she shifted her weight in her seat, flicking her hair nervously. But Blair patted her hand reassuringly, sitting up a little.

"I think I'm fine," she murmured in response, flashing Serena a blinding smile. Chuck and Serena locked eyes above Blair's head – maybe the drugs were driving her insane. It seemed more realistic than this…docility.

"Stop it!" Blair snapped playfully, giggling in delight when her best friend and her boyfriend – the word sounded delicious – jumped a couple feet in the air. She stifled her laugh with her hand and grumbled jokingly, "It's not _that_ weird!"

It was, and she knew it. But the bulimic episode had robbed her of the negative energy she was so famous for, and she just couldn't muster the strength to be angry. Not this time. And not at Serena. She'd save her anger for Nate – he more than deserved it.

A shy smile shadowed Serena's golden skin, and she let out a little laugh. She was surprised at Blair's sudden outburst of kindness, but she wasn't about to complain.

The three teenagers were quiet for a moment. Blair stared at the rain outside her window and stroked Chuck's hair absently, while he leaned against her side and pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her throat. Serena looked on fondly and squeezed Blair's hand, not quite able to mask her astonishment but fully ready to embrace this new relationship.

The wind sighed through the trees as the sun remained hidden behind clouds, and finally, Dr. Reilly walked into the room.

Blair, Chuck and Serena had all been wondering absently – and silently – where Nate was and why he hadn't come to see Blair yet. But then again, this was only further proof that Nate was an asshole. And once the doctor came in, all thoughts of Nate were effectively banished.

Dr. Reilly seemed to hesitate upon entering, as if the sight of the three teenagers staring tranquilly out the window had startled him. But he approached the bed briskly, apparently having regained his confidence, and greeted Blair, "Hello, Miss Waldorf. I see you're awake."

He sounded genuinely pleased, and Chuck and Serena were suddenly incredibly grateful for his help.

Blair smiled slightly. This man looked nice enough. She nodded, anticipating his next question before he even asked. "I feel fine."

She did, really. She didn't feel woozy, she didn't have a headache, and she didn't want to throw up. But even if she didn't feel fine, she'd never admit that.

Before this whole disaster happened, Dr. Reilly would probably have reeled in shock at Blair's biting tone – because back then, it _would_ have biting. But she said those mundane words in a friendly voice, and Dr. Reilly smiled gently in response.

"That's wonderful news!" he exclaimed. Chuck wondered fleetingly just how bad Blair's prognosis had been. The doctor continued, "Oh, let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Reilly." He extended his strong, warm hand for Blair to shake, and she took it gladly.

Just then, a nurse came in quickly and silently and pressed a red button that slowly elevated Blair's bed. Blair – or Miss Waldorf, as Dr. Reilly liked to call her, despite Chuck's repeated insistence that the title made her sound elderly – thanked the nurse profusely. It was weird for her, thanking someone – she never thanked Dorota – and she was only realizing now that she should be more polite.

Wow. This day was just _full_ of epiphanies.

Once the petite, brunette nurse – of course, Chuck thought bitterly – left the room, Dr. Reilly explained warmly, "You'll be discharged this evening."

Blair almost clapped her hands in joy, prompting both Chuck and Serena to grant her shocked looks. Chuck patted her hand gently and stroked her hair, a smile bringing color to his pale cheeks. He couldn't believe that she was okay, that in just a few hours she'd be back in the room he had spent countless hours in, scheming and flirting.

All those years wasted…

Chuck tore himself away from the consuming memories and asked Dr. Reilly, "What are her instructions?"

Blair frowned at the question – she didn't want to talk about what she would have to recover from her "stress-induced regurgitation" – but remained silent. She didn't really want to fight about this, and besides, she couldn't deny that she was anxious to know her treatment.

"Well, Miss Waldorf," the doctor began, wringing his hands fretfully. He hesitated a little, shaking his head, as if deciding whether to say his next words. Suddenly, Blair was very afraid. How bad was it going to be?

But she nodded encouragingly, bracing herself for the worse.

Dr. Reilly shook his head again. All three teenagers held their breath, dreading the prognosis.

"You have to stop making yourself throw up." He sounded blunt, self-assured. And he terrified Blair so much that she let out a gasp of shock.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, sudden tears leaking through her fingers, and squeezed her eyes shut. It was different hearing that reprimand from Chuck so many times before, hearing his silken voice tell her that he loved her and that she couldn't do this to herself anymore. That she could handle. She could even appreciate those words.

But now, hearing that command from Dr. Reilly…it made it all seem real. She was sick. Really and truly sick. And she needed help.

This felt final, and Blair shuddered in fear. She wasn't sure she could do what the doctor asked her to. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to face this. There was still her mother to deal with, and Nate too…

But Chuck squeezed Blair's hand without saying a word, reminding her that nothing mattered but him. She would save her friendship with Serena – she thought she might already have – and she would overcome her insecurities about her mother's opinion of her. She might even talk to Nate again, someday. She thought she could do all that, if only she always had Chuck.

Oh. There goes another epiphany.

Dr. Reilly smiled weakly at the three best friends and explained, "We'll give you a strict diet to maintain," Serena and Chuck nodded sagely, "You need to regain your strength. And for a while – a couple weeks, maybe – you'll have to eat only soft things. Your stomach won't be able to digest much else."

Blair nodded slowly, a little overwhelmed by the inundation of information. Serena flashed a smile her way and asked the doctor – she had always had a knack for this kind of gracious save – "Can she go to school?"

Blair smiled gratefully and waited for Dr. Reilly to speak.

"Well," the doctor thought for a moment, "You should probably take the week off. The medication we're going to give you won't make you feel too good." He smiled apologetically.

But Blair let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't quite sure why; she really hadn't known what to expect. But this news seemed welcome enough. She didn't exactly want to go back to school just yet, and she was surprised to find that she wanted to eat. Because in all honesty, she couldn't remember the last time she had fully digested a cupcake. And she suddenly _really_ wanted to eat a cupcake.

"Can I have a cupcake?" she blurted out.

The three other people in the room burst into laughter, and Blair smiled sheepishly. Dr. Reilly offered, "Yes, of course."

Chuck smiled at her surprising reaction and let his gaze flick to Dr. Reilly. His eyes light and gold and relieved, he asked the older man warmly, "Will she have to come back here for a check-up?" He glanced at Blair quickly, as if hoping she wouldn't be angry that she was speaking for her. But she only nodded encouragingly, and he smiled gratefully.

The truth of the matter was, Blair was far too weak to form coherent, thoughtful questions. She was glad Chuck and Serena had assumed that responsibility. Although, that would stop as soon as –

Dr. Reilly interrupted her thoughts with a quick nod of his head and a brief explanation. "In the next few weeks, you'll have to –" he was addressing Blair now – "come back in for a routine check-up. But other than that…"

His voice trailed off, and he adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose. It was a nervous movement, and it wasn't lost on Blair. She prodded belligerently, "What else is there?"

Chuck smiled at this. This was the bitch he remembered from all the years of plotting. This was the Queen B who ruled the school with Christian Louboutin stilettos and Prada headbands. This was Blair Waldorf.

Dr. Reilly hesitated again, averting his eyes almost bashfully, but then continued haltingly, "Miss Waldorf," – because when he was nervous he always resorted to manners – "You'll have to go to group therapy once a week."

Color flooded Blair's paler-than-usual cheeks, and she hissed in a low, threatening voice, "What are you _talking_ about?"

Chuck cringed anxiously. He knew that voice. He didn't think he'd ever forget that voice – who would? Dr. Reilly wasn't going to like what came next.

But Blair said nothing more, deciding to practice the art of restraint for once, and Dr. Reilly sighed in relief. He moved a little closer to her – a hard feat, considering the protective perimeter of teenagers surrounding her bed – and explained swiftly, "Legally, I'm not allowed to discharge you unless you sign a contract promising you'll attend group therapy once a week." He grimaced as he said the last words, bracing himself for Blair's reaction.

And sure enough, she exploded.

"I refuse!" she yelled, pouring all her energy – what remained of it, at least – into those two words. She would never go to therapy. She would never pour her bitter heart out to strangers who would probably laugh about her behind her back. She just wouldn't do it. "I cannot believe you would ask me to do that. Dr. Reilly, I was under the impression that you had more sense than that!"

Those last words weren't exactly justified – she hadn't known Dr. Reilly for more than a few minutes – but she was angry. More than angry. Furious, even.

Dr. Reilly opened his mouth indignantly, ready to retaliate, but Chuck held up a hand and shook his head warningly. He had learned from many arguments that when Blair got like this it was best to let her anger run its course.

Blair glared at him for knowing her so well – it was both a curse and a blessing most days – but otherwise ignored the interruption. She screeched, the veins in her neck bulging, "My mother will hear about this. She won't allow this!"

She stopped to catch her breath, and Dr. Reilly seized the opportunity. "Actually, she already has," he contradicted, smiling smugly at the shock in Blair's eyes, "I spoke with her this morning, and she heartily agreed. In fact, she'll be by to pick you up this evening."

Blair gaped at him. She couldn't believe _Eleanor Waldorf_ had given her consent to send her daughter to group therapy. Willing psychoanalysis was the epitome of social faux pas for Eleanor. Discovering that Eleanor allowed – wanted, even – this to happen robbed Blair of any real passion. She let her head fall back on the pillow and let out a loud groan, prompting Chuck, Serena, and Dr. Reilly to laugh raucously.

At her expense.

Blair glared at them with all the fire she could muster and spat through clenched teeth, "How long will I have to attend this…_group therapy_?" She voiced the words with such disdain that Chuck and Serena exchanged amused looks.

Dr. Reilly struggled to conceal his own smile, explaining gently but firmly, "As long as necessary. Officially, your therapist will decide."

Blair sighed exaggeratedly. She decided she'd just have to resign herself to this stupid reality. She hoped, though, that the sessions wouldn't be on Sundays, because Sundays were her shopping days and she just couldn't miss the sale at Bergdorf's…

The doctor continued to detail the therapy sessions Blair would have to go to, but she wasn't really listening anymore. She merely stared out the window, wondering how different her life would be after this. She felt like this one hospital visit had changed everything. She no longer had Nate, who had been her safe haven since her freshman year. And she no longer had bulimia. She realized that those two things were irrevocably intertwined, and she was glad to be free of both.

At last, Dr. Reilly wished Blair – he called her Blair this time – good luck and left the room, muttering something about going to get a cupcake.

The room was quiet for a long moment. And then Blair – of course – broke the silence.

"S?" she asked softly, squeezing her friend's hand. She took a deep breath. "Where's Nate?" She saw Chuck grit his teeth out of the corner of her eyes, but her gaze didn't waver. This was too important to ignore; she had to know why Nate had left. She thought she had heard him yelling at Chuck while she was asleep, and she couldn't understand why he had decided to be such an unmitigated ass and leave the hospital altogether…

Silly Blair. That's just who Nate is.

Serena faltered, averting her eyes, because she didn't want to relay this painful news to the best friend she had betrayed. But she couldn't – wouldn't – deny her this. They had been through so much, and she wasn't about to give her up over Nate. Again. She sighed and explained quietly, "He left after finding out you slept with Chuck."

There was utter silence for a long moment.

And then,

"What?" Blair screamed at Serena.

But her gaze automatically flashed to Chuck's as her cheeks flamed and fire danced in her eyes. He looked chagrined – apologetic, even – but she wouldn't allow him any leeway. She simply couldn't believe he had told Nate about their night together. She thought it was a special memory to him, but apparently it – and she – was just a bargaining piece in his efforts to win his lifelong battle against Nate.

She snapped, struggling to control her temper, "What the hell did you do."

It wasn't even a question.

He shrugged helplessly. He had no idea what to say to her when she got this mad. And he knew he was wrong. He shouldn't have told Nate about he and Blair. He had known it was a bad decision then, and in retrospect, it seemed even worse.

Blair roared, "How _could_ you?" But her voice broke, as it was apt to do when she wasn't angry but sad, and she slumped into the pillows. Suddenly, she looked so small and vulnerable that Chuck wanted to hold her. But he refrained, because she was angry and he was sorry and there weren't words that could fix this.

Not quickly, at least.

Blair sighed heavily, tears fresh in her throat, and accused him, "That was supposed to be _private_. Just between us. Does that mean anything to you?"

Chuck shook his head in exasperation and stood up, yelling angrily, "Of course it does! It means _everything_. It just slipped out!"

"That's not a good enough excuse!" Blair shot back, involuntary tears welling in her eyes. She didn't want to be crying, of course, but with Chuck she found that it was almost a reflex. She was just so tired of this back-and-forth. She just wanted to be with him, without all this Nate stuff. She just wanted to love him, freely and safely and completely out of the the public eye. Was that too much to ask?

She guessed it was.

Neither half of the complex that was Blair and Chuck said anything for a long moment, and Serena interjected half-heartedly, "Blair, it wasn't his – "

"Don't," Blair warned.

Serena nodded meekly, and the silence continued.

Finally, Chuck took his place next to Blair again and whispered gently, "I love you, Blair. That's all that matters. "

Blair's eyes brightened, joy flickering through her features, and Serena stared at the pair in utter amazement. But the moment passed as quickly as it came, and Blair growled in frustration, "You can't just say those words and expect things to be okay. They're _not_ okay!"

Chuck nodded in agreement and cried, a tear slipping down his pale cheek, a tear that startled them both, "I know, Blair!" And he did. He knew this wasn't right. He knew that maybe they wouldn't be okay. But he had to try. "I _know _they're not okay! But I want to fix things and I love you and I can't do this without you…"

"Do what?" Blair asked defiantly. "Live?" she sneered, as if the idea of him needing her to survive was so preposterous that she dared not entertain it.

"Yes!" Chuck shouted, throwing his arms up.

The sound reverberated through the tiny room, and Blair gaped at him in shock. She suddenly wanted to tell him that she felt the same way, wanted to tell him that she was sorry for yelling and that she didn't regret any part of their complicated history. She wanted to banish the trepidation lurking in those gold eyes of his.

But she didn't get the chance to, because just then Nate burst into the room.

Chuck opened his mouth to yell at him, but Blair got there first. "Get the fuck out of here." She really didn't even yell it. She just said it. And there was enough venom and ice in her voice to stop Nate in his tracks.

He was stunned for a moment, but he quickly recovered – uncharacteristically, Blair thought somewhat ruefully. "I won't. You owe me an explanation."

"For what?" she yelled. "We were broken up!"

Nate shook his head, smiling a little, as if there was something he knew that she didn't. "Blair," he admonished, wagging his finger, "You slept with my best friend. Shouldn't you be apologizing to me now?"

He smiled cruelly, and Blair recoiled. How could she have ever loved this boy?

Maybe she never had.

She retorted bitterly, "And you slept with mine!" She shot Serena a quick, apologetic smile, because this wasn't really about was about Nate and how badly he had treated her for all the years they had been together. "It's a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, isn't it?" She thought it was truer than he even realized.

Nate faltered. "Fuck you," he finally spat out.

Blair cried out, and Chuck screamed, "How _dare_ you!"

And then Blair couldn't tell what was happening. She was crying and Nate was yelling and Chuck was running towards him with rage in his eyes and Serena was hugging her tearfully…

And there stood Blair's father in the doorway.

_tbc_


	15. To Live is to Have Courage

**A/N: I can't even begin to express how sorry I am that this update took me so long (a month! what is wrong with me?!?!?!?) Thankfully, though, I already have the next chapter almost completely written out. It will be the epilogue, by the way.**

**I am so thankful for your continuing support and reviews. It's such inspiration!**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

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Chapter 15

To Live is to Have Courage

* * *

_Loose ends they tangle down  
And they take flight  
But never tie us down  
Never tie us down  
- Off I Go by Greg Laswell _

Harold Waldorf considered himself a calm man, but he thought some semblance of anxiety was justified in this case. His only daughter was lying prostate in a hospital bed, and three of her childhood friends were crowded around her. The two boys he had often seen joking with each other were attacking each other. And his daughter's best friend was holding said daughter's hand and patting her hand reassuringly.

What the hell was going on?

"Blair Cornelia Waldorf," Harold whispered menacingly. His eyes were slightly glazed; he was that angry. He was jovial – at least he thought he was – but the sight of his Blairbear in a hospital bed erased all good will.

A hushed silence descended upon the drab, dreary room, and four heads swiveled to face Mr. Waldorf – or Harry, as Serena affectionately called him. Blank expressions greeted him, but he could easily identify the fear in Blair's eyes, the slight joy in the set of Serena's mouth, the anger in Chuck's jaw, the confusion in Nate's brow.

Typical.

Harold sighed heavily and greeted his daughter, "Darling, what _happened _to you?" He sounded a bit wearier than he intended to, but he couldn't really control his tone.

Blair glared at him a little, prompting a smile from those surrounding her, and replied, "I had a little…episode."

Harold nodded. He knew better than to pry. He'd probably have to get an explanation from Serena – or Chuck maybe, considering the boy's proximity to Blair. "How are you feeling?" Harold asked finally, instead of trying to force an answer out of her.

Blair's features relaxed a little; this was just her father. Eleanor was the scary one in the family. Blair shook her head slightly, a blush flooding her cheeks, and replied, "I'm fine, Daddy." The moniker rolled easily off her tongue, and she allowed herself a small smile. There was nothing to be afraid of.

Harold walked towards his daughter, nodding to Chuck and Nate, who were still entangled in each other. The two "best friends" – they hadn't been close in a long time – hung their heads sheepishly and broke apart. Serena instinctively stood up, inching herself away from Blair's bed to make room from Blair's father. That had always been her way – let Harold get close to Blair and keep Eleanor away from her. It was a foolproof plan.

Blair smiled up at her father. Harold returned the gesture, taking a seat beside her bed. "We should get you home," he offered. He paused for a moment, hesitating. "Where's your mother?"

Blair visibly cringed. Chuck took a step forward, as if to comfort her, but Nate placed a warning hand on his shoulder. Chuck glared at him and shrugged the hand off, because Nate was being far too protective over a girl he had spurned. But the dark-haired boy – boy, man, whatever – took no further steps. He realized it wasn't his place to comfort Blair now.

Blair shook her head in confusion. "I'm not sure."

"Well," Serena interjected helpfully, "Eleanor called me when Blair collapsed, and then she left to resolve a crisis at the boutique," A hint of disdain crept into the normally placid tones of Serena's voice, and she struggled to conceal her disapproval, "I called her when Blair woke up, and she said she would be here soon."

"When was that?" asked Harold quietly. Blair shook her head again, knowing what he was trying to do (he was trying to goad her, trying to blame Eleanor for not being there for her daughter when she most needed her), but he shrugged off her complaint and repeated, "How long ago did Blair wake up?" This time he didn't even direct the query to his daughter.

Blair wanted to protest – he was talking as if she weren't even in the room – but Serena opened her mouth before she had a chance to.

"An hour or so," Serena admitted. She averted her gaze, afraid to see the chagrin in Harold's eyes. When Serena had called her, Eleanor had promised she would be at the hospital in ten minutes or so – Serena had chosen to omit that particular detail – and it had been more than three hours since then.

Mr. Waldorf's gaze darkened – understandably – and he shook his head minutely. "Typical," he muttered.

The room fell silent. Blair wanted to contradict him, wanted to tell her father that Eleanor must be running late or something. But she knew – didn't just think; _knew _– that her mother wasn't going to come for her. That had always been her way, and Blair couldn't reasonably expect Eleanor to change anytime soon.

But Blair was confused. Why was her father even here? Who had told him about her…collapse? (She couldn't bring herself to call it a bulimic episode. Not yet.).

"Daddy," she began sweetly, placing a small hand on her father's shoulder, "How did you know I was in the hospital?"

Harold was about to play dumb, about to ask Blair what she was talking about. But despite her weak condition, she was still the conniving little girl he raised and loved, and he knew she wouldn't take no for an answer. "Well," he explained painfully, squirming in his seat.

"I called him," Chuck said bluntly.

Only three pairs of eyes rose to meet his gaze – Harold was, frankly, too tired to pretend to be shocked at this admission. Serena and Nate's gazes were unimportant, as per usual. The two blondes stared at the former playboy in shock and confusion, but no query lingered in their navy eyes.

It was Blair's face that Chuck worried about.

Blair gaped at him in undisguised astonishment. He was her love, her savior, yes. But even after everything they had been through together, even after the nights he had held her while she shuddered from her latest bout of bulimia, even after the whispered promises of love and comfort…even after all that, she couldn't believe that _he_ had been the one to call her father. He wasn't usually that responsible or that…thoughtful.

"What?" she asked, her eyes widening slightly. It wasn't an accusation, and Chuck, thankfully and surprisingly, could recognize that – he was getting better at reading her.

An awkward silence followed the word, and the other members of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club – plus Harold – turned to look at Chuck expectantly. He winced. He still wasn't used to this kind of attention. (It was the nice kind, the kind where people are waiting for you to solve all their problems, but it was also the kind that was more than a little intimidating).

"I thought you would want him here," he confessed finally, uncomfortably. He would have been more at ease if it was just Blair he was addressing, and maybe Serena too (possibly even Mr. Waldorf). But he wasn't willing to reveal the true depths of his affection towards Blair in front of _Nate_. Despite everything that had happened between them lately – involving Blair and excluding her – brotherhood still meant something to him. A lot, actually.

Blair shook her head slightly. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples, and replied softly, "Thank you."

Chuck smiled at her, a shy, bashful smile that almost brightened his eyes, and fire danced in Nate's blue depths. He had denied the remarkable, almost invisible attraction between his best friend and his girlfriend for as long as he had known them both, but this was different (somehow, he felt it). Clueless as he was, he couldn't ignore the pure…_devotion_ flitting between his ex-girlfriend and his (current?) best friend. It was unfathomable.

And he couldn't handle it.

"Excuse me," he sneered nastily, stepping in front of Chuck, "Mr. Waldorf, let me help you get Blair home."

Chuck seethed behind him, but made no move; was there even a point? Nate was clearly on a rampage, and when Nate went crazy, there was no stopping him. Serena, meanwhile, let her gaze fall uneasily to Blair, as if worried about her reaction – rightly, of course – and Harold sighed. He didn't even try to hide his exasperation at Nate's suggestion.

"No thank you, Nathaniel," he declined politely, averting his eyes, "I'm sure Serena and I will manage just fine." He faltered, reaching for Blair's hand, and added, almost as an afterthought, this to Blair, "And your mother, of course."

Of course. Blair scoffed, groaning inwardly.

"I insist," Nate protested angrily, his lip curling. He was too dim to realize that it looked like he was asserting his authority. He took a step closer to Blair's bed, as if to make her see that he wanted to help her, but Chuck snarled and tugged him back. Nate shook his head, seeing that everyone was against him.

Oh, Nate. That's the plight of the pretty boy.

"No, Nate." This time it was Blair who spoke. She lifted her head off the pillow and argued, "I think you've done enough damage."

A pleased smile flitted across Chuck's face, but he regained control and tightened his grip on Nate's arm. He knew Nate's reaction would be nothing short of explosive. (All the members of the Non-Judging Breakfast Club had that in common).

And explosive it was.

"I don't understand," Nate spat through clenched teeth. In reply, Serena shook her head wordlessly, Blair covered her eyes with one frail hand, Harold let a swift blush color his cheeks, and Chuck pulled Nate back with much effort. (Despite Chuck's recent attempts to work out, Nate was still stronger than him).

"Don't understand what?" Blair asked finally. Her voice was light and lofty, and Nate breathed an audible sigh of relief. He had been afraid that his confusion – pretended or otherwise – would incense her, as it always had when they were together. What he didn't realize, of course, was that what he did didn't concern her much anymore.

Nate shook his head again. He ran a hand through his man-bangs – as affectionately dubbed by Serena – and countered, "I'm your friend."

"And only my friend," Blair corrected gently.

Nate stared at her, trying to figure out exactly what she meant. He felt more confused than usual now, and he didn't know what his ex-girlfriend (that was still the only way he could think of her) was trying to say. "What?"

Blair hung her head apologetically. She felt vaguely regretful about sending Nate away, especially because they had broken up only a few days ago, but she didn't want his help. It seemed like he was only trying to assuage his guilt over betraying her and breaking her heart, and she wouldn't let him. He'd have to fight to regain her trust. In fact, she thought it possible that she would never again depend on him. They were really over.

What a day this was turning out to be!

"Just go, Nate," Blair offered at last. She sounded tired, she noted, tired of him. But that was only because she _was_ tired – physically. She had a headache and her eyelids felt heavy and she could feel the blood draining from her lips. She twined a few dark curls around her finger in a smooth, controlled movement, as she sometimes did when she felt like she couldn't breathe.

Serena, evidently annoyed at her position besides Chuck and, effectively, away from Blair, moved past Harold – with a swift apologetic glance in his direction – and towards her best friend's bed. She noticed that there were dark circles under Blair's eyes, and her hair was limp and damp, flat against her pale cheeks.

"B," Serena whispered, worry etching her golden features as she reached for Blair's hand, "You should get some sleep." She was almost surprised at her ability to ignore Nate and his clueless musings. Then again, what Nate said was never of much consequence anyways.

The golden prince looked on in bewilderment, stealing a glance at Chuck. He was shocked by the sorrow lurking in his best friend's eyes. Chuck looked forlorn, broken. He looked like he was afraid his entire world might crumble around him, that everything he longed for might envelop him in flames until he could only gasp for air. He looked like a man questioning everything he believed in.

And for a moment, Nate truly understood why Blair had fallen into Chuck's arms the night she broke up with her longtime boyfriend. Chuck cared about her, and he had always cared about her. He cared about her like Nate could never have cared.

And for once, Nate _got _it.

Sudden clarity is rare, and fleeting. It's that spot of simmering gold in an ocean of dull brown, a glitter in the blue depths. It's hard to hold onto, and even harder to fully recognize. But Nate saw it then, felt it.

Clarity.

* * * * *

Blair sighed once Nate left. She glanced at Chuck, a faint smile gracing her face, and nodded slightly in silent acknowledgment of his continuing presence. His eyes widened, but happily, easily.

Unfamiliarly.

"Can I just go home?" Blair asked quietly, almost ashamed at the note of pleading in her voice. She gripped Harold and Serena's hands tighter, begging for acceptance of her request. She was so tired of those four stupid hospital walls, and she had only been her a couple days – maybe less, but she wasn't sure.

No one said anything for the longest of moments. It was incredibly awkward.

Mr. Waldorf was, understandably, unsure that _his_ daughter – his loving, sweet, conniving daughter – was ready to leave the protective haven of the hospital. She might relapse. He knew his daughter was a strong, independent young woman, but even she couldn't fight a disease. (Her bulimia _was_ a disease, despite Blair's insistence that there was evidence – if any – to the contrary).

Serena, meanwhile, just wanted to go _home_. With Blair. She was tired of hoping Blair would be okay, and she was tired of pretending she didn't think this was her fault. She felt incredibly guilty for sleeping with Nate and not staying in touch with Blair while she was at Hanover Academy. And she just wanted to get away from all of this. _Now_.

A foot away from Blair's bed, Chuck shook violently. He couldn't believe he was this close to Blair but he couldn't touch her. He longed to kiss her, just to press a hand to her cheek and tell her he loved her. (Because he did and he always had).

"Blairbear," Harold finally began, squeezing Blair's hand gently, "You need to rest." His protest was weak, and he was well aware that it was, but he had to try.

"I can rest at home," Blair interjected defiantly.

Harold shook his head. "That's dangerous, Blair." Blair shook her head in reply, a mirror image of her father's retort, but Harold held up his free hand and continued, "You're not due to be discharged for a few hours. At least."

"Actually, Miss Waldorf," corrected Dr. Reilly from the doorway, "Your mother is here."

The shock of his appearance – he stood there, one foot in Blair's hospital room and one foot in the hallway – was lost in the revelation that Eleanor had actually come for Blair. Blair had not expected her mother to come, not this soon.

Maybe not ever.

"What?" Blair hissed, trying to sit up. Chuck took an instinctive step forward, because she looked so frail and weak and panic was dancing in her caramel eyes. He wanted to help her overcome this crippling, irrational fear of her mother.

"Mrs. Waldorf is here," repeated Dr. Reilly meekly. He was afraid to say more; perhaps Blair would explode with the force of her own fear.

But instead, Blair fell back against the pillows, closing her eyes. She wasn't sure she had any strength left to protest this new development. Her mother would come and get her, and that would be the end of that. She could do nothing to help herself now.

At this, Chuck took another step forward, shoving Serena out of the way, and grasped Blair's hand tightly. Serena did not even blink. She knew it was killing Chuck to be so far away from Blair.

Chuck pressed his free hand to Blair's cheek and murmured softly, tenderly, "You don't have to see her if you don't want to." (He could promise no such thing, of course, but he felt it necessary to convince her otherwise.)

Blair appreciated his concern, she really did. She smiled weakly, stroking his thumb with a feather-like touch, and closed her eyes in almost…joy. She was so glad she had him now. She had been alone for so long – even when she was with Nate, she had felt isolated – but with him…with him, she felt brave. Drowning in his eyes was effortless for her, but it was also safe, and exhilarating. She relished the feeling, and she loved it.

She loved _him._

So she was strong with him, and because of him, and she always had been and always would be. Now was the time to change things. She knew she had to confront her mother, because Eleanor was the source of most of her body image and self esteem problems, and she'd never be free if she didn't face that now. Chuck may have reversed some of the damage, but the issues remained.

"I want to see her," Blair whispered softly. She locked eyes with Chuck, letting herself nod earnestly.

Chuck nodded in reply, the movement mirroring the jolt of Blair's head. He understood this, understood her need to validate herself in her mother's eyes. He understood that better than anyone else could, and for that, Blair was thankful.

Blair glanced at her father, awaiting his acceptance. Harold waited a moment, thinking about what would happen next. He wasn't sure he trusted Eleanor to be nice – no, not even nice; cordial – to her daughter. After a moment, though, he only nodded wearily, running a decidedly wrinkled hand through his brown locks. "I suppose that's all right," he conceded.

But if he expected Blair to squeal in delight, he was off the mark. Blair merely sighed and closed her eyes.

This was gonna be one hell of a reunion.

Chuck squeezed Blair's hand, worry flooding the caramel specters of his eyes. He didn't want her to do this; he wanted to protect her from the inevitable pain of confronting her mother. As long as he had known her (all his life), he had struggled, unable to persuade Nate that she was more than enough for him, incapable of convincing her mother that she should appreciate her daughter more. Now that Blair was officially his, it was all the more difficult. He couldn't stand the thought of watching her plead with her mother to just _love_ her.

But he loved her, and he knew she had to do this for herself. So he swallowed the words simmering on the tip of his tongue and instead squeezed his girlfriend's (girlfriend's!) hand again. She would be all right. He'd make sure of it.

"Send her in," Chuck ordered Dr. Reilly softly, the Bass authority seeping into his voice. He didn't usually like sounding like his father, but he guessed sometimes the family legacy was useful. Like now.

Dr. Reilly nodded, bowing his head respectfully, and left the room, his white lab coat dusting the floor ethereally. In his wake rested a heavy silence, a silence as blank as the white walls surrounding Blair. She looked much like an angel in this light, the other occupants of the room recognized, dark hair curling in a halo around her pale face. She looked beautiful, so serene, even though her eyes were wide and frantic. She looked like an angel.

But that was an errant thought, because if Blair was an angel than she was…dead.

Chuck cringed at that, prompting a reassuring – if weak – smile from Blair. The two teens shared a demonstrative gaze, full of weighty promises, and they both nodded at the same moment. They could do this, if only because they were together.

The moment their eyes left each other, Eleanor Waldorf set foot in the room.

She stood there for a moment, leaning against the linoleum walls. Her arms hung loosely by her sides, but she looked stiff. She looked uncomfortable, one foot poised in front of the other. Her navy Manolo Blahnik pumps clicked loudly, awkwardly against the floor. And her expression was unreadable.

"Blair," the statuesque woman breathed at last, taking long strides across the tile floor to greet her daughter, "I was so worried about you."

The room remained silent. Harold sharply inhaled. That was the worst thing she could say, considering the amount of evidence disproving her statement. Eleanor never showed any amount of panic at or interest in the various aspects of Blair's life; how could anyone expect her to start now?

Blair shook her head vehemently, a rueful laugh slipping from her lips. "No, you weren't," she contradicted, bracing her hands against the hard mattress beneath her as she struggled to sit up, "You never are."

Eleanor shook her head in response, taking a step towards her daughter. Her eyes were still blank. There was now only a foot or so of space between Blair's shoulder and her mother's outstretched hand, and that was too close. Chuck swiveled his head to face the woman he resented more than he thought possible. He raised a warning hand to her, but almost lowered it; he was surprised by his own audacity.

Eleanor glared at him, that classic Waldorf glare that usually had Chuck cowering in frightened awe, but Chuck stood his ground. Blair's mental - and physical - well being was the only thing that mattered anymore.

"Stay away from her," he growled, grasping Blair's hand protectively. This girl was his, and he intended to save her from humiliation/cruelty to the best of his ability. (He realized he'd give his life to make her happy).

Eleanor gaped at him. She was a great actor – it was a celebrated Waldorf trait – but even she couldn't disguise her shock at this newest of revelations. _Chuck Bass_ was protecting her daughter? What a novel concept!

"Excuse me, Chuck," asserted Eleanor haughtily, crossing her arms across her chest, "But this is none of your business." She lifted her nose as high as she could and took yet another step forward, locking eyes with Blair. There was a hint of pleading in her brown eyes.

But the younger brunette turned her head away. She wasn't sure she could handle her mother's protests right now.

Chuck felt – not heard, not saw, _felt_ – Blair tense behind him, and he stroked her hand soothingly. He had never felt such an acute need to help someone, and he realized that he was becoming a man. He was becoming more than himself, more than he had originally intended to be, more than anyone had ever expected him to be. And it felt wonderful.

"Mrs. Waldorf," he finally murmured respectfully, "I think you owe Blair an apology."

Eleanor crossed her arms across her chest and fixed Chuck with steely, smoldering eyes, protesting, "For what?" She was indignant, but more than that, she was surprised. She simply couldn't believe Chuck thought she should apologize to Blair. There was nothing she felt guilty about. There was nothing she _should_ feel guilty about.

Blair tugged on Chuck's hand just as he opened his mouth to reply. He looked back at her in question, and she nodded slightly. It was her turn to defend herself now.

Chuck moved out of Eleanor's line of vision, allowing Blair to lock eyes with her mother. The two brown-eyed beauties stared at each other for a long, unhappy moment. Blair wasn't sure what to say. She wanted to confront her mother, wanted to force her to admit all the ugly truths she had lived with all of her life, all of her fragile, twisted childhood. She had to find the strength to fight for herself.

Blair took a deep breath and said quickly, firmly, "You should apologize for making me feel like I wasn't good enough for you."

Harold let out a hard breath. "Blairbear –" he began, as if in sympathy, taking the vacant chair by Blair's bed. Blair held up a hand, not even glancing at her father. She didn't need any support; she wanted to do this on her own.

Eleanor said nothing. She straightened her back and merely looked at Blair expectantly, daring her to continue.

Blair knew her mother expected her to back down, knew that she didn't think her daughter would ever be able to defy her with any degree of finality. Eleanor was her mother, and despite everything she had done to Blair, that still meant something. This confrontation might change everything about their mother-daughter relationship. Maybe it would sever the tenuous ties that bound them. Could Blair handle that?

Well, she guessed she would have to.

Blair shook her head again, fighting the urge to cry, and argued tearfully, "Eleanor, I'm in this hospital because of you." Eleanor scoffed, but hurt flitted through her eyes, presumably at the detached mention of her name. Blair had never been able to definitively call her "mother." Too much had broken between them.

"I've been throwing up for years," Blair continued, averting her gaze painfully, reluctantly, but necessarily, "And you never noticed. If you did –" she paused, clearly hurt by this possibility, "You never did anything about it." She took a deep breath, and Chuck inched closer to her in silent support.

Blair hung her head, staring at the floor and those navy blue heels, and whispered finally, "I can't forgive you for that. Not now." Tears streamed down her cheeks suddenly, uninhibited, fast. She couldn't quell the moisture leaking from her eyes, and she touched a hand to her damp skin fretfully. She tried to wipe her cheeks, but her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

Eleanor held up a hand, opening her mouth to protest. But a single tear trembled on her eyelash, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. The four other people in the room were surprised to see that tear. Serena especially – at times, Eleanor seemed as cold and distant as her own mother.

Eleanor finally gathered herself and argued, "You brought this on yourself."

Chuck stood up angrily and yelled, "Don't you dare!"

Eleanor sneered at him, her lower lip trembling, and otherwise ignored him. She continued, "Blair darling –" the word sounded nasty and unforgiving on her lips – "Don't blame me for _your_ mistakes."

Blair shrank back in pure horror. She was surprised her own mother could be so cruel to her; despite all her cruelties, Eleanor was still a mother. But Blair could recognize that Eleanor was just trying to cover up her own disgust – disgust at herself, not at Blair. Blair had always been good at reading people, had always seen through the lies and the facades and the perfectly crafted deceptions. And she could see that the tear glistening in those brown eyes of her mother's was not a tear borne of anger, or regret. It was borne of the inevitable sadness that had consumed Eleanor at last.

Blair was strengthened by this realization, and she whispered, "I'm not blaming you for my mistakes. I'm blaming you for yours."

Serena clapped a hand over her mouth to mask her nervous giggle. This conversation was much too intense for her liking – not to mention hard to follow – and she felt incredibly out of place, like she had stumbled on some private exchange. She wasn't sure exactly how to escape that feeling, but she knew that she couldn't just leave the room. She'd have to stay until Eleanor left (and it _would_ be Eleanor who left first).

Blair's eyes flitted to Serena's worried face, and the brunette smiled reassuringly. She felt strangely empowered by everything she was saying.

"I'm sorry," Blair murmured at last, letting her gaze fall on Eleanor's. Because she _was_ sorry. Sorry that their relationship had deteriorated steadily over the tears, sorry that Eleanor had passed on her need to be perfect to her only daughter. She wanted to fix everything that had gone wrong, but she wasn't sure that was even possible. Maybe the only way to fix this was to forget the past.

"Can we start over?" She breathed.

Eleanor blinked, stricken. She closed her eyes, nodding slowly. She took one final step towards Blair, closing the physical distance between them as she had never been able to close the emotional distance, and this time Chuck allowed her access. He could sense the subtle change that had occurred between the two Blair and Eleanor, and besides, there was nothing he wanted more than for Blair to mend the fences between she and her mother.

Eleanor placed a hand on her daughter's forehead and whispered, "No, Blair."

Serena, Chuck, Harold. They held their breath. Why would she deny Blair this favor?

"You're wrong," Eleanor asserted. "_I'm_ sorry." Eleanor kissed Blair beneath her hairline, and Blair closed her eyes gratefully. The mother and daughter locked eyes, and Eleanor nodded.

She stood up, straightening, and glanced at the three people gathered around Blair's bed. She smiled at Serena, winced in Harold's direction, as if in apology, and gazed at Chuck with something akin to respect flickering through her eyes.

And then she left the room.

Blair sighed heavily – whether out of relief or despair Chuck couldn't tell. Regardless, he sat on the edge of Blair's bed and whispered, "Let's get you home, okay?"

Her answering smile was everything he'd ever wanted to see.

_Off I go  
Where I fall  
Is where I land_

_tbc _


	16. We Burned So Bright

**A/N: So here it is: the last chapter of "Signs." It's been a roller coaster, but to all of you who have stuck with me, thanks for reading. I hoped you enjoyed this alternate version of Blair and Chuck getting together.**

**Thanks for reading! Enjoy :)**

**P.S. The song lyrics throughout this chapter are from Ray LaMontagne's **_**Hold You In My Arms.**_

Chapter 16

We Burned So Bright

_/When you came to me with your bad dreams and your fears  
It was easy to see you'd been crying/_

Things are quiet now.

It's late May, and the flowers are blooming, twining and clinging to the stone buildings lining the street. There's less than a week left of the NJBC's junior year of high school, and the air has a relaxed feel to it. Even the birds are singing, high, chirping melodies drifting into the hazy white sky.

Blair smiles to herself from within the protective enclave of Chuck's limo. The windows are tinted, of course, and as the car races past sidewalks and clubs and restaurants, she breathes in and closes her eyes in contentment. She swivels her head, lacing her fingers through Chuck's, cheeks flushed, smile easy.

He returns the grin, leaning towards her and letting his lips graze her forehead. "We're almost at school now," he whispers against her soft skin, a note of wistfulness slipping into his voice. He sounds delightfully lazy.

Blair's smile doesn't falter; her teeth shine in the dim light. A devilish gleam flickers in her eyes, and she pulls Chuck closer to her, murmuring under her breath, "There's always _after_ school."

Chuck's eyes darken a shade or two, and he clears his throat, squirming uncomfortably. Blair has softened him somewhat, but he's still a man. He moves a little closer to his girlfriend and growls, "God, I love you." His voice is gruff, but wonder lurks in those coffee depths, and Blair has to bite back tears.

This boy has been so good to her.

She lays a hand against Chuck's cheek and whispers, "I love you too." She touches her lips to his tenderly, and they kiss for a moment.

The limo reaches Constance/St. Jude's shortly after, and Chuck and Blair part after a quick grazing of the lips. This is their daily tradition – he picks Blair up before school and drives her home once that final bell rings in the afternoon. It's easy, it's simple, and it's comfortable.

Blair embraces Serena once she reaches the courtyard. The two best friends – former, present and future – mended their broken ties soon after Blair was discharged from the hospital, and they think they're stronger than they were before.

Serena helped Blair weather all the rumors and gossip that surrounded the brunette and Chuck once their relationship became public. She held her hand when the girls from the steps threw yogurt in her hair, stood up to Eleanor when the older woman threatened to sever all ties if Blair continued to see Chuck. Serena was there for her, and Blair loved her for that. They were best friends again.

But they don't talk about Nate much; he's their past, and they're learning to live in the future.

Blair remembers the night they _really_ talked about Nate and everything that happened and changed and broke. They curled up on Blair's bed after watching _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ in late April, hugging pillows to their chest, trembling with the force of their mistakes. They looked at each other, took a deep breath, and then told their stories.

Serena confessed that perhaps she had always cared about Nate, that she was really drunk the night she forced herself on her best friend's boyfriend, that she had fled to boarding school to escape the memories that threatened to consume her. Blair nodded and listened, holding Serena close occasionally. She realized she had secrets to tell, too, and so she told Serena about all the times Chuck had saved her while she was away at Hanover Academy, about that magical night in the darkness of the limo, about the day she found out about Nate's betrayal and how Chuck whispered "I love you" when he thought she was asleep.

The two girls cried themselves to sleep that night, and they never looked back.

_/Seems like everywhere you turn catastrophe it reigns  
But who really profits from the dying?/_

At school today, Serena and Blair lock arms and approach Penelope, who shakes her dark waves somewhat disdainfully and extends two steaming lattes in the girls' direction. Blair fixes her with an icy glare, and the shorter, less fashionably dressed – it has to be said, Blair thinks ruefully – socialite almost curtsies in her haste to show respect. Serena giggles slightly at this newest of attacks; it's been a long time since she's seen the youngest Waldorf work her Queen B magic. It feels good to have the Blair she knows and loves back.

Hazel, Iz, and Nelly Yuki – the two names are inseparable – lurk in the distance, and Serena and Blair breeze past them in a flurry of gold and caramel. They don't even turn their heads.

It's best this way.

The two girls are about to go their separate ways – Blair to AP English, Serena to Honors Physics – when they see Nate. He's lounging against the brick wall, arms crossed, gaze impassive, streaks of yellow flitting in his messy hair. He's wearing a hunter green pullover and khaki pants, and he's tapping his foot impatiently. He appraises his former best friends with an air of such indifference that Blair feels hot anger pulse beneath her skin. She can't believe it. She can't believe he's still trying.

He does this everyday. Everyday, he stands by that wall and waits for Blair and Serena to address him. And every day, the girls exchange quick, somber glances, nod a little, and walk by him. They try to avoid the hurt that alights in his eyes.

They know they can't handle a conversation with him right now. He's hurt them too much, too much to forgive him so soon. Maybe they'll be ready come the summer, or maybe in a few years disdain won't flicker in their eyes so much.

Someday.

But they're not ready now, and so they put their friendship over any residual feelings they might have for their fallen prince. They walk away, walk past him, and they don't look back.

_/I could hold you in my arms  
I could hold you forever/ _

The day is slow and wonderful, as per usual these days. Junior year – stressful, horrible, cramp-inducing junior year – is finally ending, and the teachers are mostly done with the required curriculum. They're too tired to teach much of anything, and besides, they'd rather just flip through magazines and check their emails. Which leaves the Constance girls free to sit on the desks and gossip about the latest hook-ups and summer plans.

Blair, however, doesn't join in the petty talk. She likes to stare out the window at the azaleas blossoming in the courtyard and contemplate the success of her life: she's got a doting, sexy boyfriend, she's on the road to Yale, and she has a perfect best friend. So she daydreams during class, because at any moment Chuck will pop his head in the open doorway and…

"Waldorf," he hisses, right on cue. It's the middle of third period, AP French. The sound travels just far enough; only Blair hears, somehow.

Blair turns her head subtly and smiles. He does this whenever the weather is particularly nice, because there's this little windowed alcove by the library steps that overlooks the many delicate flowers in the courtyard. The space is just big enough for a certain brown-eyed couple.

Couple. What a wonderful word, Blair muses.

She gets up silently and slinks past the circle of girls, reaching for Chuck's outstretched hand. Madame Bouvier looks up, weariness etched in the lines of her forehead, but says nothing. She merely waves the giggling, blushing, _lovesick_ girl on with a flick of her hand. It's a tired gesture.

Blair nods gratefully and wiggles her fingers. She wonders why the young professor is acting so cavalier, but resolves not to think about it any further. (She's decided to leave her scheming past behind).

The moment Blair steps through the doorway, Chuck tugs on her hand, pulling her down the empty hallway. She laughs breathlessly and follows him through winding corridors and around sharp corners. (She'll follow him anywhere). There's a nagging ache in her side by the time she and Chuck reach the heavy oak doors that swing shut with a welcoming thud, but she really doesn't care.

Chuck pulls Blair close and attacks her lips as soon as he pushes her up against the recently painted wall. He's smiling widely, happily, and Blair keeps her eyes open so she can trace the curve of his lips and the shape of his eyebrows. She hooks her leg around his waist and pulls him closer still, eliciting a gasp from his willing lips. She's wearing bright yellow patent leather heels, and the fabric shines in the sole light stemming from the light bulb hanging from the ceiling. It's strangely beautiful.

_This_ is beautiful.

Blair will admit that Chuck has become more tender in the past few weeks, but she can't resist this side of him. He's wild and he's passionate and there's such…_adoration_ in his touch that she's trembling even before his fingers reach her waist.

She closes her eyes when his hands rest on the top of her skirt. He pushes up the navy oxford caressing her skin, delicately undoing the buttons encasing her body. (He doesn't ask her permission anymore, and she's glad). She moans against his moist lips and writhes as his hands flit further and further up. She breathes in the air he breathes at her and kisses him with a fire she never knew she had.

Chuck's hand creeps towards her breasts, and his fingers flick beneath the soft lace of her white La Perla demi-cup bra. She arches her back, leaning towards him, her breath coming harsh and ragged as his long, lithe body presses against hers.

She shivers when his nimble fingers snake around her back and unclasp her bra. It's such an intimate, intense moment; he's the only one who's ever seen her like this. She shrugs out of the constricting straps enthusiastically and pulls Chuck closer to her, pressing her bare breasts to his chest.

This is so naughty – they're next to the _library_, for God's sakes! – but Blair can't muster the energy to consider the consequences of their rash actions. He's here and he's kissing her and she just wants him to take her. Right now.

And then she suddenly wants to cry.

She knows – _knows_ – that she'll never get over him, never get over this. She will always love him, and the memories of this day, this moment, will linger as long as she lives. He is her one and her only. He is Chuck Bass, and she is Blair Waldorf, and she can't go any longer without him knowing how much he means to her.

"Chuck," she whispers, breaking her lips from his. His hands still on her breasts, and his fingers flit to the hollow beneath her throat. Blair's breath hitches, and she falters.

He's feeling her heart.

His eyes flutter open as she realizes this, and he gazes at her reverently, affection dancing in his eyes. "Blair," he murmurs, one hand falling to the curve of her hip. It's not a question at all.

Blair smiles, blinking back a few tears that embody the overflow of joy, and averts her eyes. A blush creeps into her pale, once-virginal cheeks, and she says softly, "I love you."

She does.

Light flickers in Chuck's eyes, but she ignores that. She has to say this now, has to tell him she needs to be with him forever, has to explain that she can't be Blair Waldorf without him. She doesn't want to be. But she only says, "And it's a really big deal." She wipes her eyes fretfully.

Chuck gazes at her for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. Then, breaking the silence, he chuckles under his breath and leans his forehead against hers. Blair looks up at him with wide, doleful eyes. (How dare he laugh at her insecurities?)

But he strokes her cheek gently, his fingers curving to the contours of her jaw, and there's a quiet sincerely lurking in his touch. "I love you," he asserts, waiting for her smile. He resists the urge to tack on the "too." His love doesn't depend on her reciprocation, and she deserves to know that.

She trembles a little, crossing her arms to cover her bare chest. She feels slightly exposed. Those words always bring that combination of exhilaration and fear.

The heat of the moment – the passion, the yearning, the desperation – is almost gone, but she doesn't think she minds so much. She and Chuck have plenty of sex, but sometimes they avoid the heavy conversations, because they've been through so much and they just want to be _happy_. But she's Blair Waldorf, and she has to know what they're doing and if it's enough.

Chuck sighs; he sees the hesitation in Blair's eyes. His hands fall to her slim shoulders, his gaze sweeping over the dip of her cleavage, and murmurs, "You're my future, Blair." A smile plays at the corners of his mouth as tears brim in her eyes. "I won't let you go," he promises sincerely.

He smiles widely, enjoying this honesty, and a soft gleam settles in her eyes. She steps forward. And slowly, leisurely, she folds herself into the hold of his arms.

She's supposed to be there.

_/When you kissed my lips with my mouth so full of questions  
My worried face that you quiet/ _

Lunch is quiet, boring, gentle. Wonderful. Blair and Chuck sit on the Met steps, holding hands, laughing and eating and scheming as the sun warms their faces. Serena and Dan perch on the step below them – as always, Blair is a queen and acts like one – and the couples just enjoy the midday blue skies. (Chuck and Dan are friends now, miraculously).

Blair doesn't allow herself to think about all the calories she's consuming in her lunch. She's healthy now, healthier than she's been since that December night freshman year, and she won't jeopardize that. It's a struggle, of course; every time she eats an egg salad sandwich she gags, and sweets are almost totally out of the question. But she hasn't thrown up in three weeks, four days and six hours, and she feels much better than she expected.

Today's challenge is a Santorini-themed salad from Sweet Green, an eco-friendly frozen yogurt bar on Madison and 2nd. It's got mint, grapes, roasted shrimp, and feta. It looks delicious, but Blair hesitates. The dressing is probably very fattening; it's balsamic vinaigrette, and it's a cheery gold color, which doesn't bode well. Salad dressing should always be translucent. Blair glances over at Chuck, who squeezes her shoulder reassuringly, as he does every day.

She used to eat, of course. But before her hospital visit, she always had the luxury of expunging the contents of her stomach after every meal. Now, she must fully consume and digest the food she eats. It's scary.

And so she still finds it hard to enjoy eating. She can't _like _eating; it's not in her nature.

But Chuck is helping her with that. He brings her food from the most delectable take-out places, and they go out to the most talked-about restaurants with the most prized chefs. He wants to help her overcome her inherent disgust of food, wants to help her learn to relish every bite like she relishes every kiss. He wants to help her heal.

And so far, it's working.

_/Place your hands on my face  
Close my eyes and say  
That love is a poor man's food/ _

The rest of the afternoon breezes by (AP World History, Photography, AP Chemistry), and Blair can't help resenting that. She has group therapy after school – it's Wednesday – and she's dreading today's session. She and the other girls (who are either required by the hospital to attend the sessions or willing attendees) are supposed to identify the event that triggered their very first bout of bulimia. Blair revisits that memory much more than necessary, but she's not sure she's strong enough to voice it out loud.

But she can't avoid this session. Dr. Reilly told her that if she doesn't go to therapy, she'll have to stay in the hospital again. And besides – and she's almost ashamed to admit this – she thinks all this talk might actually be helping. She's made a few friends at therapy, and it's strangely invigorating and gratifying to hear girls who are so different from her express the feelings she can never put into words.

And so when the final bell rings, Blair gathers up her books and bounds toward the courtyard. But her head is down, and she averts her eyes. She usually walks tall, because she rules this place, but she's not sure she wants people to know about these weekly shrink sessions just yet. The entire school – and probably all of Manhattan – knows why she went to the hospital a month or so ago, but she intends to keep the therapy a secret. At least for now.

But all that ceases to matter when she sees Chuck.

He's breathtaking in moments like these, moments when he doesn't think she's watching him. His famously checkered scarf is loosely wound around his neck, and he's leaning against the brick wall by the steps. He's texting someone, his head bowed, eyebrows furrowed, ankles crossed. And he raises his toffee eyes the moment Blair's yellow heels come into view.

"Blair," he breathes, an instinctive, automatic, uncontrollable smile brightening his dark features. He looks so happy that Blair's heart swells. _She_ has made him this happy. Blair Waldorf has made Chuck Bass happy.

"Chuck," she greets him, love clouding her voice, muddling the word. She reaches for his hand and laces her fingers through his, swinging their arms a little as she admires how perfectly they fit together.

"Let's go," she finally suggests, looking at him. He nods, and they walk towards the street where his limo – the dark, memorable limo – awaits their arrival. They slide across the leather streets and sit quietly for the ten-minute drive to the office building where the therapy sessions [unfortunately] take place.

They pull up by the nondescript building at last, and Chuck grazes Blair's cheek with his lips. He whispers "Goodbye, good luck" hastily and almost pushes her out the door; he knows that if she's not forced, Blair might not ever get out of the car.

And then she's gone.

_/I could hold you in my arms  
I could hold you forever/ _

Blair musters her courage and descends the stairs in the lobby of the building; she's heading to the basement. The room is large and spacious, and the walls are painted a lemon yellow. It's a happy place.

Usually.

The girls are grouped in a circle, as always, and Blair takes a seat next to Ruby, a Brooklyn hippie whose hair is as ferocious as her loyalties. Today the fiery redhead is decked out in a puffy vest, purple skinny jeans, and golden bangles up to her elbows. This girl reminds Blair of Vanessa, that girl Dan is always hanging out with; she's passionate and she's driven and she defends her roots to the end. Blair smiles faintly at the comparison, but falters when she remembers that Ruby is crippled by her father's absence since she was five and an abusive boyfriend her sophomore year of high school. (Blair knows what neglect feels like).

The two girls exchange quick greetings, babbling easily about their summer plans and the day's homework. Blair's surprised she's managed to befriend a girl like Ruby, and she's proud of herself.

After a few moments, the conversation dies off, and Blair smoothes her white pleated Ralph Lauren skirt and crosses her legs, looking at the leader expectantly. Danielle is a teacher at a French international elementary school on the Upper West Side, and she says she volunteered to head these sessions because she was bulimic until her first year of college. Blair respects her – she dresses unusually well for a teacher – and so she's not her usual bossy, bitchy self on Wednesday afternoons.

The ten girls sitting in hard, plastic maroon chairs introduce themselves one by one. Blair always introduces herself the same way: "I'm Blair Waldorf, junior at Constance Billiard, best friend to Serena Van der Woodsen, girlfriend to Chuck Bass." Then she falters; she's required to say these next words, but she always feels weak afterward.

"And I am a victim of bulimia."

She lets out a sigh of relief when Ruby begins to speak. As much as she craves attention, the soothing, colored light in this cheerful room is so far from the spotlight she's used to. She's okay with being anonymous here.

She sees a couple new faces today: a tall, blond, emaciated girl who could easily pass for a model; a short, meek girl who looks far too young for this kind of disorder; an ethereally beautiful brunette with delicate features and full red lips. Blair sighs. She's always shocked by the types of girls – and boys (one time a man dressed in drag showed up) – who come to these group therapy sessions. It's just so _sad_.

Once everyone in the circle has been introduced, Danielle details the twelve steps towards recovery, as per usual. Blair fights the urge to close her eyes; she's heard this all before. She's on Step Five: admit your problem to others. She's still working on that.

Finally, Danielle poses the "question of the day" (as affectionately dubbed by Jade, a sophomore at Brearley). "Today, we're going to talk about the first time."

Blair almost smiles, because those words sound very similar to those spoken by Chuck only a few days ago (but he was talking about a limo, not petit fours and cold mothers). She stifles a small giggle; that's hardly appropriate.

Danielle takes a deep breath. "Can anyone tell me what happened the first time they made themselves throw up?" Her voice is blunt and unforgiving, and a few girls flinch. But Blair closes her eyes and musters the courage to tell her story.

It's strangely liberating. She talks about freshman year and her slowly deteriorating relationship with the boy she always thought she would marry, details her feelings of inferiority to Serena and her constant battle to be enough for her mother. Her voice is raw and hoarse as she explains that one night soon after her father left. She ate a petit four to console herself, and when her mother saw this, she scolded her for not fitting into a dress that would have fallen off Serena.

And so Blair threw up, to make herself feel better, to make her problems disappear, to alleviate that ache in her heart.

To have some control.

Blair gets a lot of sympathetic glances as she talks, and she's surprised to find that by the time she's chronicling the morning Chuck found her in the bathroom at school, a few tears have leaked from her eyes. She feels free somehow. (The moisture is healing).

The girl who looks like a model is the next to speak. She averts her eyes, nervously tucking her blonde waves behind her ears, and clears her throat several times. She's crying even before the first word leaves her mouth. But there's such strength in her voice that Blair listens intently.

"I've been a model since I was eight," the confirmed model murmurs almost inaudibly. Blair wants to shout, "I knew it!" but refrains; she can tell this is incredibly hard for the blonde to confess.

The girl takes a deep breath, wiping her eyes, and continues, "When I was twelve, agents started telling me that I had to lose weight. I didn't really believe them, but I wasn't getting as many jobs as I used to, and I thought that might be why." A sorrowful murmur sweeps throughout the circle, and the girl raises her dull blue eyes – weakened by insecurity, of course. She hasn't said her name yet.

"My mom was my manager, and we were really close." Blair smiles in both fondness and pain; she doesn't have memories like that. "My dad died when I was five, and my mom remarried when I was eleven." A few girls wince, and it's obvious they've been through something similar.

"I didn't mind my stepfather, of course; he was nice and charming and good to my mom," the girl whispers, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. Blair suddenly wants to cry. She wants _her_ mother to have that kind of happiness.

Of course, though, even this fairytale will turn sour.

The blond girl shakes her head fretfully and explains, "But I didn't know the half of it. He was a _bad_ guy, and I just couldn't see it." She gasps for air, her hands trembling as she struggles to continue. The other girls hold their breath. They know she's not going to say anything good.

"I was in seventh grade when my stepfather molested me."

A collective gasp flits around the room, and Jade cries out, "No!" Blair's hand flies to her mouth, and tears unwittingly leak from her eyes. This is so much more horrible than she expected, and she's not sure she can handle it. Her problems pale in comparison.

The girl to the right of the statuesque model inches closer to her and squeezes her shoulder reassuringly, her features twisting into a grimace that mirrors the expression on all the other girls' faces. The model raises her gaze, almost defiantly, and then finishes telling her story.

"Of course, I told my mother," the girl explains, fire dancing in her eyes, "She didn't believe me. I really shouldn't have been that shocked," she says ruefully. It almost sounds like she's chastising herself. "That's the way it always goes in the movies, right?" Her voice cracks, and tears stream down her cheeks.

Blair's heart breaks.

The girl shakes her head again, her blond curls tumbling over her shoulders, and breathes, "My stepfather kept coming into my room when he thought I was asleep. And so I started throwing up. That was the only thing I had any control over." She nods now, calmed by her justification.

Blair realizes that this all makes sense to the girl – the explanation, the reasoning, the consequences. That's the difference between a sick person and a sane person. A sick person believes that what they do makes sense.

Blair's been in that place before; she knows what it feels like to think that the only thing you can control is your weight. It's damaging and it's dangerous and it's just so _false_, and she knows all that. But it made sense at the time.

She really can't express how glad she is that she doesn't feel that way anymore.

_/So now we see how it is  
This fist begets the spear  
Weapons of war  
Symptoms of madness/ _

Danielle sighs. The sound is heavy in the silence. "Thank you for sharing your story," the teacher breathes. She falters – the former model's name remains a mystery. "What's your name, darling?" Her voice is soft, barely audible, but the girls in the circle hold their breaths.

Again.

"Renee," the girl whispers.

The room is quiet for a long moment. No one speaks until the short brunette named Alexandra perks up, voices her sympathies, and begins telling _her_ story.

Blair tries to concentrate on Alexandra's explanation of her failure to be accepted to the prestigious high school she wanted to attend and the reprimands of her parents and relatives, but she can't stop thinking about Renee's story. She's moved by the former model's blunt words, but more than that, now she's reconsidering all her reasoning for being bulimic. She doesn't have any _real_ justification. She's just an Upper East Side princess with a gay absentee father and a cold, disinterested mother. It's not exactly uncommon in Manhattan.

The conversation eventually turns to who is helping the girls overcome their bulimia. Blair eagerly volunteers, launching into a glowing portrayal of Chuck and his heroic attributes. She tells the group about the night Chuck told her he loved her, explains how he was the one who brought her to Dr. Reilly in the first place, details his continuing support since she was discharged from the hospital.

Her voice glows with unconcealed ardor as she speaks; she loves this boy and she wants everyone to know that.

But her joy subsides after a moment, because it suddenly occurs to her that Renee probably doesn't have someone like Chuck. Blair falls silent, sobered by the weight of everything she doesn't know. Which is a lot.

Once Blair is done talking, several other girls describe their saviors. And throughout all the tales of heartbreak and low self-esteem, Blair wonders whether she should approach Renee. She wants to tell the broken girl that she's sorry she had to go through all that, wants to offer her help and her support. She wants to make her see that she's not alone.

But Blair knows Renee will just brush her off – she would do the same in her position – and so she's a bit flummoxed. She doesn't know what to do.

The session ends at four-thirty, and Blair accosts Renee as soon as Danielle stands up. "Renee," she addresses the girl, clasping and unclasping her hands uncomfortably. She's humbled by all the blonde has seen and felt. How can she possibly relate?

Renee's features distort into an ugly mask of pain and embarrassment. Blair immediately feels horrible for approaching her; she's invading this girl's privacy. Renee crosses her arms and haughtily replies, "Blair Waldorf." She sneers the name, as if it's something to be ashamed of, and color floods Blair's cheeks.

She's about to fight back, about to deliver a biting remark like the trained actress she is. But she doesn't. This girl is just lashing out.

That's something Blair can understand.

"Renee," Blair repeats, her voice softening as the fire slowly evaporates from the girl's eyes. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry you don't have anyone to help you."

Renee opens her mouth to protest, disgust flaming in her eyes, but Blair continues, "You need someone to be there for you. _I _can be there for you." She slips her card – she's Blair Waldorf; of course she has a card – into Renee's hand and smiles. "Call me." She flicks her hand in the former model's direction.

And with that, she walks away, leaving Renee contemplating this strange proposal.

Blair thinks she may have made a difference.

_/Don't let your eyes refuse to see  
 Don't let your ears refuse to hear/ _

Blair is noticeably quiet when she climbs into the limo waiting for her outside the building. She tucks her brown curls behind her ears, a few tears trembling on her curled eyelashes, and slides across the leather seats. She doesn't look at Chuck, instead burying her face in the warmth of his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything; she's always shaken and disturbed after therapy, and unnecessary concern only prolongs the process of recovery. She's usually fine by the time she and Chuck arrive at her penthouse, and she's grateful for her boyfriend's silence. Usually.

But Blair refuses to indulge the silence in the limo this time. Words are shivering on the tip of her tongue, and she wants to give them release. She shakes her head, tears blurring her vision, and breathes, "Thank you, Chuck."

Chuck tightens his hold on his girlfriend's still-too-thin body and murmurs, "For what?" He's genuinely curious. He doesn't understand why Blair always feels the need to voice her gratefulness; he loves her and he'll go to the ends of the earth for her. He doesn't need to be thanked for something he loves doing. (He thinks taking care of her might be his purpose in life).

Blair sighs. "For being that guy."

Even the silence is confused.

Blair shakes her head, her dark curls tumbling across Chuck's chest. "You know, _that _guy," she tries to explain, her hands flailing in the air, "The guy in those movies who breaks into the SAT office to steal the answers for his best friend and beats up the guy who cheated on the girl he's always –"

Chuck cuts off her bumbling explanation with a kiss. She sighs and melts into his embrace without protesting. Chuck silently rejoices; he just wants to touch her. Besides, she doesn't need to explain her feelings. He understands what she's saying.

He thinks.

_/Or you ain't never gonna shake this feeling of sadness/_

Blair steps out of the elevator leading to her penthouse and calls out in bell-like tones, "Mom?" It feels strange to call her mother anything other than "Eleanor," but it's a good kind of strange, and Blair fully embraces it. (Besides, shortly after Blair was discharged from the hospital, her mother requested that she not call her "Eleanor" anymore. Blair gladly complied).

Blair's mother's sensible beige Elie Tahari pumps click on the marble floor as she approaches her daughter. The older woman smiles warmly and asks curiously, "How was therapy?"

Blair stiffens minutely – it's almost undetectable. She's still surprised her mother has accepted these sessions as helpful and necessary, and she's not used to the undeniable concern in Eleanor's voice.

She'll have to get used to it, though. After Blair's unfortunate hospital visit, her mother apologized for her past treatment of Blair and promised to be more…motherly. So far, it's been an uphill battle, but at least she's trying.

Eleanor falters – try as Blair might, she can't think of her as her mother in her head just yet – but she bravely soldiers on. "Okay, darling." The word sounds infinitely more natural than it did only a month ago. "I can see you're not ready to talk about it right now." Her voice is easy. She doesn't sound strained at all.

Blair nods, grateful for the discretion.

Her mother steps closer to her daughter, obviously deciding to change the subject. She clears her throat and asks softly, "Where's Charles?"

Blair resists the urge to smile – her mother has never once called Chuck by the name he prefers. She shakes her head in slight amusement and explains jauntily, "With Dan. He'll be over in a few minutes."

Disbelief flickers in Blair's mother's brown eyes, but she hides it well. Blair stifles a giggle – she's just as surprised. Eleanor nods and mutters wistfully, "I suppose you'll be upstairs then."

Blair nods. Chuck dropped her off at her penthouse, kissed her quickly, and told her he had to go collaborate with Dan. Blair was, justifiably, surprised – she still can't believe that Chuck is willing to talk to awkward Lonely Boy from _Brooklyn_. Chuck is kind of antisocial (in the weirdest way), and all his life his only friend has been Nate. (Blair winces at the thought). But she only shook her head and told him she'd see him in a half hour.

She's learning to accept Chuck's many idiosyncrasies.

But she doesn't tell Eleanor any of that. She merely smiles widely and wraps her arms around her mother. It feels better than she expects it to.

Eleanor lets out a small gasp of surprise, but Blair only holds her mother tighter. Before the infamous hospital story, Blair would never have dared to hug her mother. But she thinks that now she's on the road to recovery, she should allow her mother to be a part of that.

After a long moment, Blair releases her mother and sighs. "Thanks," she whispers. Eleanor doesn't bother responding – she has no idea what Blair is grateful for, and she knows there's no point in asking her daughter.

Blair bounds up the stairs to her room, a casual smile flitting across her face as she leaps through her doorway. She collapses on her bed and stares at the ceiling, her eyelids feeling heavy, exhaustion seeping into every fiber of her being. She thinks that maybe she'll just sleep until Chuck comes, just close her eyes and let the darkness take her away…

_/I could hold you in my arms   
I could hold you forever/ _

Blair awakes to the soft murmur of lips across the nape of her neck. Chuck sweeps her dark waves away from her face and wraps his arms around her waist, whispering in her ear," Good morning, Waldorf." He chuckles under his breath and pulls her tight against his body.

Blair sighs in pure contentment and twines her legs with his, purring slightly. "Hi, Bass." Her voice is shy and sleepy, and she wipes her eyes as her eyelids threaten to close. She burrows deeper into the hold of Chuck's arms and lets out a little noise of delight.

The two lovers stay like that for a while, staring out the window and breathing in the light summer air. They don't say anything.

After a few minutes, Blair swivels her head and turns her body so she's facing Chuck. She smiles, and he muses silently that she is most beautiful when she has just woken up.

He could get used to this.

"How was your..meeting with Dan?" She asks ruefully. He laughs, a husky sound that sends shivers down her spine.

"Fine," he mutters. His voice is strangely secretive, and Blair resists the urge to laugh. Obviously, he's keeping something from her. Normally she'd be worried – she likes to be the one with secrets – but this is Chuck. She trusts him.

She smiles again and asks softly, "Chuck Bass, what aren't you telling me?"

He falters, then leans forward and grazes her cheek with his lips. She shivers and giggles giddily, her hands braced on his broad shoulders. But she won't be thus deterred; she tugs her body closer to his and warns, her voice a dangerous murmur, "Don't make me ask again."

Chuck laughs nervously and releases one of his hands from its perch on her waist, reaching into his back pocket. Blair looks on curiously, her eyes straining in an effort to discover what he's hiding.

Her eyelids flutter when she realizes he's holding two plane tickets.

"Chuck," she stutters, "What are those?" She's strangely scared.

He smiles widely. "Come to Tuscany with me," he suggests, tantalizingly waving the tickets in front of her face. "Come to Tuscany for the summer." He looks at her, gauging her reaction, but her eyes are blank. He panics and struggles to explain. "You don't have to, of course, but I just thought that since you're not doing anything this summer that you might want to –"

Blair's excited squeal cuts him off. "Of course!"

Chuck grins, grasping her waist and flipping her over so she's on top of him. "We leave in a week and a half," he murmurs, closing his eyes as she kisses him enthusiastically. Unlike Nate, he responds in kind.

They're kissing hungrily for a while until Blair pulls away and mutters angrily, "My mother's downstairs."

Chuck falls back on the pillows and laughs, a hard laugh so rare for him that Blair grins. He's laughing. _Chuck Bass_ is laughing.

Blair stares at him in admiration before suggesting, "We could…just kiss?"

He smiles and strokes her cheek, nodding. She shakes her head in gratitude and wonder and leans down to press her lips to his.

Damn, did she get lucky!

They lie in bed like that for a long while, fully dressed, kissing lazily as the light streams in through the paned windows. Blair twines her arms around Chuck's neck and lets her dark hair fall in front of her, tickling his nose with the feather-light locks. He smiles gently and reaches for her lips, sighing as his fingers caress her face.

Blair smiles and whispers, "I love you" against his lips. Chuck nods and murmurs, "Always."

They smile.

They're happy.

Oh, what a wonderful world this is.

_I could hold you in my arms  
 I could hold you forever _

_fin_


End file.
